


Harry Potter: Four Swords Adventures

by Garden_Eel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Draco Malfoy Redemption, Four Harry Potters, Gen, Harry Potter Thinks He's Fine, Harry Potter is Not Fine, Past Child Abuse, Timeline What Timeline, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garden_Eel/pseuds/Garden_Eel
Summary: Strange storms begin lashing at the castle and sickly mists begin bubbling up from below the dungeons. Something is afoot in Hogwarts and Harry Potter stumbles upon it, as he always does. When he accidentally unleashes the wind mage Vaati from his prison, it's up to Harry, his friends, and his new "brothers" to put Hogwarts right again. An original "game" combining various gimmicks and geographical quirks from across Zelda canon. Deep knowledge of Zelda lore is not a prerequisite for reading, I promise. It's not like the Harry Potter kids know what an Octorok is from the get-go!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Sirius Black & Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been kicking around my head since before Breath of the Wild came out, existing in scribbled-down what-ifs, concept art, and sprite maps before I finally decided that I might actually have a concept solid enough to put metaphorical pen to paper. I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants here, so I don't know where this story will end up, but I'm excited to see where I can take it!

Sopping wet and staggering on leaden legs, Harry made his way to the Gryffindor common room with his Nimbus Two Thousand clutched in one half-numb hand. He yawned the password to the Fat Lady, who tutted at his sorry state as she swung open. Harry stumbled through the common room, fending off Hermione with mumbles of “Quidditch practice, crazy Captain” and made his way up to the boys’ dorms.

Two weeks before, in mid-September, the weather had taken a sudden and terrible turn. Though Scotland was not known for its kind climate, Harry didn’t think hurricane-force winds and fat raindrops flying like tiny bullets were exactly normal in early autumn. Oliver had insisted on practice anyway, though, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team had spent three evenings braving the storms.

 _‘At this rate, we’ll win the Quidditch Cup by default. No one else would be mad enough to fly in a monsoon,’_ Harry thought wryly as he peeled off his sodden clothes. He’d changed in the locker room, but the trek back up to the castle had only gotten him soaked again. Silently, he vowed to learn the charm Hermione had used on his glasses to help him see during practice; maybe it could help protect the rest of him from the icy, wet awfulness falling from the sky.

Harry pulled his pajamas on, put his broom in his trunk, and fell into bed. His exhausted body sank into the mattress, the aches and pains of the past few hours fading away…

_:Heir.:_

Harry blearily cracked one eye open. The lights had been extinguished and he could hear Ron snoring across the room. He had gotten used to the sound, though; it was actually a little comforting in its familiarity. That couldn’t have been what had woken him up.

_:Heir, you are needed.:_

Jumping in surprise, Harry looked around. Who’d said that?

A sense of dread curdled in Harry’s gut as his thoughts turned to the fugitive who was hunting for him. What if Sirius Black was in the room?

_:Please, Heir, help usss!:_

_‘Wait a minute, that sounded familiar,’_ Harry thought, his panic dying down a bit. During his second year, he’d gotten a fair amount of experience in listening to Parseltongue. It still sounded like English, but he’d come to recognize the faint hiss behind the words.

Harry cautiously leaned over the side of his bed and lifted the hanging covers to see under it. There wasn’t a snake underneath it, as far as he could see. He slid out of bed and crept around the dormitory in search of the hissing voice.

_:Over here!:_

The boy’s head snapped up. “Where?” he called softly, wary of waking his dorm-mates.

_:I’m on the wall, bessside the door. Please hurry, Heir!:_

Puzzled, Harry padded across the dorm and scanned the wall beside the door. He wasn’t sure how a snake might perch sideways on a smooth stretch of stone. Perhaps the snake was magic?

His eyes slid over a large imperfection in the blank stone and then flicked back to it in shock. A carving of a snake—some sort of cobra—stared at him from the wall! It flicked its tongue and then turned its head toward the door.

 _:Please follow me, Heir. You are needed,:_ the snake hissed.

Harry frowned. _:Needed for what?:_ he asked. He was faintly surprised to hear himself speaking Parseltongue. It had been a while since he’d last used it.

_:You are needed to sssave usss from the Wind.:_

Well, that was unexpected. He’d expected to hear something about Salazar Slytherin or Voldemort, or perhaps even Sirius Black. _:What kind of wind?:_ he inquired. _:Because, if you mussst know, there’s been a whole lot of that blowing around Hogwartsss as of late.:_

 _:Follow me, Heir,:_ the snake said in lieu of an answer. It slithered across the wall and then around the door frame.

Curious, Harry fetched his Invisibility Cloak and trotted after the snake. He walked down the stairs and past quietly studying upper-year students, his eyes trained on the cobra. It slithered from medium to medium as it made its way toward the portrait hole; on stone it was a low-relief carving, in tapestries it was woven in grey and black thread, and on wood it became a stylized engraving. When it disappeared beyond the edge of the portrait hole, he quietly slipped out of the common room and into the corridor beyond.

The snake, traveling through portraits and startling a number of their unfortunate occupants, led Harry to an unremarkable stretch of wall in one of the upper levels of the dungeons. Harry stared at it, perplexed. Was there supposed to be a door here or something?

The snake gave him a pointed look. _:Ssspeak the word, please. We haven’t much time.:_

 _:Ssspeak what word? I don’t sssee a door to open, ssso how…?:_ Harry trailed off as a doorway faded into existence. _:Oh, “open.” Now I get it,:_ he said sheepishly.

As the snake led him through the dark corridor beyond the secret door, Harry became aware of an odd feeling in the air. Heavy and oppressive, it reeked of malevolence. No scent or hint of some off-color gas could be smelled or seen, but there was definitely something wrong.

The tunnel let him out into an unpleasantly familiar room. Harry grimaced at the white marble pillars and polished stone floor. Somehow, he’d wound up in the Chamber of Secrets. The entrance in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom apparently hadn’t been the only one.

He and the snake passed by the dead basilisk, whose corpse lay on the floor like a derailed, acid-green train. Harry was thankful the great beast hadn’t yet begun to rot, its magic probably preserving its remains. He still shuddered, though, as he passed it by; flashes of memory played through his mind, showing the basilisk alive and trying to eat him. Thank Merlin for Fawkes and the Sorting Hat.

They kept going, leaving the great atrium with Slytherin’s statue and his dead pet and heading into a labyrinth of hallways that Harry doubted he ever could have navigated alone. All he saw were stretches of dimly illuminated white stone and the occasional doorway. He’d tried to peer into a few, only to be scolded by the cobra for dawdling. It was very intent on stopping this “wind”, whatever it was, and didn’t appreciate Harry’s youthful distraction.

 _‘There were only dusty old scrolls in those rooms, anyway,’_ Harry thought with a mental shrug. Perhaps Hermione would have been excited, but he didn’t have much use for ancient literature written in a language he probably couldn’t even read. Maybe he would take his friends down here sometime, just to see what interesting things Salazar Slytherin had squirreled away.

The feeling of darkness weighing down on Harry’s shoulders grew heavier as he and the snake went along. It became harder to see, the snake only a flicker of motion in the descending blackness, and the strange air was making it somewhat difficult to breathe. He put his hand against the wall and used the cool marble to keep his balance as he continued trailing the snake.

 _‘Why am I still following it?’_ he wondered distantly, his head spinning. Now that he thought about it, going after a mysterious animated carving hadn’t been a good idea. Going down to the Chamber of Secrets had most definitely been a _terrible_ idea. So why didn’t he want to turn back? _‘I’ll get lost anyway, now that I’ve gotten so far,’_ he rationalized. _‘Might as well see what the snake is on about and then follow it back to the exit. Didn’t it say something about ‘saving us’? Maybe someone’s in danger.’_ His mind called up the memory of Ginny, lying pale and still in the grand white atrium of cold stone, a teenaged madman standing over her with Harry’s wand in hand. Yes, it was best that he see what was up before leaving. It wouldn’t be right to just abandon someone who might be in danger.

The wall changed under Harry’s fingers, going from polished marble to something rougher. He couldn’t see anything at this point—not even the little cobra. His legs kept carrying him forward, though. Despite the awful sense of evil in the air, something seemed to be pulling him onward.

A light appeared in the distance, a square of grey in the expanse of inky black. Harry dragged himself toward it, feeling as though he were wading through thick syrup. The light grew larger and larger, bringing with it a sense of hope that Harry had finally reached his goal.

Harry emerged into a large room of blue-grey granite. The ceiling stretched far over his head, disappearing into shadow. Rows of stone benches stood in front of him, separated by a line of red carpet. He walked along the aisle between the benches, his foggy brain formulating the idea that he was in some sort of church or temple.

Shadows in the wall caught Harry’s eye, and he looked up. Chiseled into the back wall was an ancient-looking carving. It depicted a large, chained-down eye beneath a dome of some sort. Above it were four swords and what appeared to be a representation of light.

 _‘Swords? I’ve used one of those,’_ Harry thought with a sleepy smile. His gaze traveled down the wall and fixed on what sat before it. A raised platform took up part of the room, like an altar of some sort. In its center sat a small stone pedestal, and sunk halfway into the pedestal was a sword.

Giddy excitement bubbled up in Harry’s chest as he made his way toward the pedestal as fast as he could. His body was made clumsy by oxygen starvation, but he managed to climb the stairs and run over to the sword with minimal stumbling.

 _‘It’s different from the Sword of Gryffindor,’_ he mused as he looked it over. The weapon’s golden guard was shaped in a shallow crescent, three “teeth” spiking upward at the middle and ends. In its middle was a round engraving that resembled an eye. The grip was wrapped with thick golden wire and led down to a round pommel with a green jewel embedded in the center. Double-edged, the sword was straight and was only interrupted by two triangular projections near the hilt. It was pretty, but sensible—nothing like Godric Gryffindor’s impractical, ruby-encrusted saber.

A curl of smoke rose from the slit the blade stuck out of. Putting one hand on the sword’s hilt to brace himself, Harry crouched down to inspect the small hole. There wasn’t much of a gap between blade and stone, but there seemed to be something _moving_ down there. He saw what looked like swirling shadows. More wisps of black smoke rose from the tiny space as he watched, slithering through the air like insubstantial snakes. Was that the source of whatever was in the air? Harry wondered with vague unease whether the stuff was poisonous.

Upon standing up, Harry suffered a fit of dizziness and stumbled backward. He forgot to release the sword as he did, and the blade came free without any resistance. The boy fell on his rump with the sword clutched in his right hand, fighting nausea swirling in his gut.

Just as Harry began to recover from his bout of sickness, the room went cold. Terribly, deathly cold, as though a Dementor were waiting to swoop upon him. The light became bluish, casting a ghostly tinge that made Harry shiver with dread. He climbed to his feet with difficulty, intending to put the sword back before whatever booby-traps he’d set off could start trying to kill him.

When the slit in the pedestal suddenly spat a gout of pitch-black smoke, he hesitated. Hadn’t he seen something shifting about beneath the blade?

Fright kicked his foggy brain back into clarity. _‘What if the sword was there for a reason?’_ he thought with dawning horror. He was in the _Chamber of Secrets_! For all he knew, he’d just unleashed an eldritch creature that made the basilisk look like a garter snake!

Harry ran for the door, clutching the sword like his life depended on it—because, for all he knew, it _did_. He made it halfway across the room before a shockwave hit him in the back and slammed him face-first into the stone floor. Pain exploded in Harry’s nose and stars sparked before his eyes.

He tried to get up, only to be knocked flat again by a wave of darkness. Unearthly howling filled his ears, interspersed by cackles of glee and roars of triumph. Wind ripped at his hair and clothes like insubstantial claws. Harry curled up in a whimpering ball, deeply regretting his decision to follow the snake. If only he’d stayed in bed!

Finally, the maelstrom stopped. Harry cautiously rose to his hands and knees, looking around warily. It was easier to breathe now. Did that mean all the strange, evil smoke was gone?

“So you’re the Hero this time. Interesting.”

Harry froze. Had that been… _his_ voice? He hadn’t said anything.

Trembling, Harry slowly looked over his shoulder. Another Harry stood behind him, wearing a smirk that would have looked right at home on Draco Malfoy’s face. The other Harry had glowing yellow eyes that cast a sickly tint on his greyish skin. His robes shifted around him, half cloth and half shadow.

The boy grinned, showing grey fangs. “Surprised to see me, Harry? I must say, I’m surprised to see you. I thought you heroic types were usually blond.” He cast a look over his shoulder. “Well, it seems the boss is finally coming through. Good luck, kid.” The other Harry strode to the door and disappeared through it.

Harry stood up shakily. His legs wobbled like they’d been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. What the _hell_ had that been? First there had been all that smoke, and then another _Harry_?! How on Earth had he gone from lying in his bed to this nightmare?

An ominous rumble shook the room. Harry experienced the urge to cry and looked to the pedestal. That stupid, horrible, evil pedestal. Smoke was pouring from the damned thing again, this time tinted a bluish purple. What was it _now_? A giant basilisk made from shadows? A Dementor? A grey, yellow-eyed version of Tom Riddle?

Harry didn’t get a chance to see whatever was coming through. At that moment, the sword in his hand pulsed, causing his vision to flicker and a sense of exhaustion to pull him toward the ground. When Harry attempted to toss the weapon away from him, it stuck stubbornly to his hand and throbbed again.

 _‘Of course the bloody thing was cursed!’_ Harry mentally snarled as his body collapsed bonelessly. It didn’t budge despite his attempts to get back up. His vision went dark as the sword pulsed more insistently. When his sight returned, the fountain of smoke pouring from the pedestal had grown taller. A cold wind began to swirl in the air, pulling at Harry’s clothes and hair. Whoever “the boss” was, it wouldn’t be long before it escaped.

The sword grew warm in Harry’s hand, and he swore with every foul word he knew as it yanked him into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets himselves. They hit it off well, all things considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got four chapters of this already posted to FFN, so I'll slap them on here daily and then settle into a weekly schedule on Saturday.

Harry dreamed of red eyes. They hung in a void of deepest black, staring at him. They didn’t appear to belong to anyone. In fact, the eyes didn’t look human at all. Wide and swollen, they were surrounded by a thick golden border that gleamed unnaturally in the shadows.

“I’ll have my wish, soon,” a voice whispered from nowhere and everywhere at once. “No more Hyrule, no more sacred maidens to hold the seal, and no more heroes to stop me.” An eye appeared right in front of Harry, fluttering on batlike wings. It seemed to grin. “I will be a _god_!”

Harry jerked awake. He sat up, breathing hard and looking around wildly. Where was he? Was there more evil smoke?

A familiar, brisk voice cut through Harry’s panic. “Lie down, Mister Potter. There’s nothing to hurt you in the Hospital Wing.”

Stunned, Harry stared at Madam Pomfrey. When had she gotten there? He frowned, considering that thought. When had _he_ gotten there? Last he remembered, he’d been lying on the floor in a church hidden in the Chamber of Secrets.

Madam Pomfrey pushed him down gently, but firmly. “No getting up, Mister Potter. You’ve had your nose broken, been chilled to the bone, suffered magical exhaustion, and been struck by who knows what kind of Dark magic.”

“Can’t I just go back to my dorm?” Harry asked. He’d had a very trying evening. The least he could do was spend the rest of it in his own bed.

“Not yet, no,” she said, ignoring his whine of protest. “The Headmaster will be in to speak to you shortly. I daresay he’s been eager to have a go at you since Professor Snape brought you here, especially with all the strange goings-on.”

“ _Snape_ brought me to the Hospital Wing?” Harry asked incredulously. He couldn’t even fathom such a thing. The Bat of the Dungeons, actually showing a modicum of human compassion toward the boy he hated most? Preposterous!

“He found you while patrolling the dungeons for students out past curfew. You were unconscious and propped up against a wall, so cold you were turning blue. He assumed you’d been spooked by a Dementor and took you here.”

“ _Bizarre_ ,” Harry marveled.

Madam Pomfrey frowned sternly at him. “He _is_ a professor, Mister Potter. You’d do well to remember that.” A groan came from one of the other beds in the ward—one surrounded by a white curtain, and the nurse bustled away to her other patient.

Professor Dumbledore swept in not long after, garbed in custard-colored robes patterned with swimming blue ducks. He took a seat at Harry’s bedside and peered down at him through his half-moon spectacles. “Good afternoon, Harry,” he greeted. “I imagine you had quite an adventure the evening before last.”

“A-Afternoon, sir?” Harry put on his glasses and looked out the window. The constant storm raging around the castle had stopped, leaving it bright and sunny. “I’ve slept for over half a day?”

“Whatever happened to you, it left you quite tuckered out,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Do you recall what happened?”

“I’m not sure something _did_ happen, Professor.” Harry sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. “Are you sure I didn’t have a nightmare? With all the Dementors around, it seems like it’d be possible.”

Professor Dumbledore’s lips pursed at the mention of Hogwarts’s new guards. “Luckily, it isn’t. They stay far enough from the castle that they only have an effect on those traveling in and out.” He sat up straighter, the twinkle returning to his eyes. “Furthermore, I doubt a mere nightmare would leave you with such an impressive souvenir.” He nodded toward something that sat at the foot of Harry’s bed.

Harry followed the Headmaster’s gesture and gasped. There was the sword! It was now sheathed in a worn leather scabbard, but that jewel-tipped grip was hard to miss. He scowled at the weapon, tempted to give it a kick.

“It’s a rather curious blade,” Professor Dumbledore commented, drawing Harry’s attention back to him. “It seems loath to leave your side. Any time someone tried to take it to be studied, it vanished from their hands and reappeared in yours. Eventually, we just had to run all the diagnostic spells on it while standing right next to you.” He chuckled.

“Did anything turn up, sir?” Harry asked. “Is it…evil?”

“Not as far as we can tell,” Professor Dumbledore answered. His expression grew somber. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much we could do if it were. The sword seems impervious to any form of magic it’s exposed to. According to the diagnostic charms, it didn’t exist.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Harry. Whatever magic the artifact has, it doesn’t correspond to anything we’ve ever come across. The curse doesn’t appear to be harmful, however, so—”

“Curse?” Harry squeaked. He inspected himself in a panic. All his limbs were there and intact, he didn’t see any boils or rashes, and his guts seemed alright. His nose wasn’t broken anymore, either. “What did it curse me with? I feel fine.”

With a sad smile, Professor Dumbledore gave his wand a quick swish. The curtains surrounding the three beds nearest his immediately retracted. “You’ll want to see for yourself, I think,” he said quietly.

Harry stood up, with a wince at the soreness in his legs, and went to investigate. It didn’t take long to realize what had happened. He stopped in front of the bed across from his, gawking in disbelief at his own face.

This other Harry didn’t look like the smirking, yellow-eyed one he’d seen before. He was exactly like the usual Harry, but for the stripe of red that colored his otherwise black hair. Harry went to each bed, his heart pounding harder with each eerily familiar face he saw.

There were _four_ of him. Five, if he counted the shadowy one not currently in attendance. Each was marked by a streak of color that corresponded to a House at Hogwarts: yellow, blue, and red. Did that make him…?

“Green?” Harry murmured to himself. He hopped back into his cot and demanded of Professor Dumbledore, “The sword _multiplied_ me? How? _Why_?”

“‘How’, we don’t know. The sword’s magic is ancient and powerful, and that is as far as our knowledge stretches. I’ve asked Professors Flitwick and McGonagall to do some reading on the subject,” Professor Dumbledore replied. “As for ‘why’, I believe your explanation of what happened may give us both an answer.”

Though doubtful, Harry sat down on his hospital bed and told the Headmaster about the snake, the smoke, and the stranger. He struggled to recount everything honestly, embarrassed to have gotten so caught up in such a spectacularly bad idea. “I’m sorry I went back to the Chamber, sir. I don’t even know why I did it. Maybe I was so tired from practice that I didn’t think,” Harry said. He had to consciously raise his voice above a sheepish mumble. _‘And now I’ve gotten cursed for being such an idiot,’_ he thought with a sigh. _‘Hermione’s going to lecture my ears off, and I’ve earned it.’_

“I’m glad you understand the danger you put yourself in, though disappointed you broke curfew to go on this adventure. I’ll be taking twenty points from Gryffindor,” Professor Dumbledore gently admonished.

Harry cringed, though he didn’t complain. At least it hadn’t been detention with Snape. If he’d been awake when the Potions Master had come across him, he and his clones would have been scrubbing cauldrons and pickling toads all term.

“Now, I believe I know the purpose of this sword,” Professor Dumbledore said. “You say it was holding something under it? A great darkness of some sort?”

Harry nodded.

“Then this blade must have been a binding to hold that darkness in. A seal that had weakened enough for some of the darkness to seep out, but a seal nonetheless.” He stroked his beard in thought. “My guess is that the snake came to you because the binding was so fragile. If it broke, the sword might have been destroyed—and with it, any chance of banishing the evil it held at bay.”

“So it’s a good sword?” Harry asked. He still wasn’t feeling very appreciative of the thing that had cloned him while he’d been unconscious. Hell, it had been the _sword_ that had knocked him out in the first place!

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Yes, it is most likely a ‘good sword’.”

Harry crossed his arms and gave the weapon a skeptical glance. “Do you know what kind of evil it was keeping in that pedestal? All I saw was weird smoke, and then that shadow-me.”

“Ah, yes, that.” Professor Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to dim as all cheer left him. “All morning, the staff and I have been receiving reports of odd happenings across the castle. The Slytherins have an infestation of large snakes and man-sized shadowy hands in their dorms. Monstrous pig-men appeared in the corridors around Gryffindor Tower. Bats of some unknown type have been flying through walls and swooping at students and teachers. Suits of armor have come to life and doubled in size to patrol the hallway outside Miss Myrtle’s bathroom abode. Rock-spitting creatures and gobs of electrified green jelly are crawling all over the castle grounds.” He sagged in the chair. “Most magic bounces off of these beasts, though a few daring students have learned that fire spells can do some damage and physical force is fairly effective.”

Harry gaped at the Headmaster. How could there be monsters all over Hogwarts, one of the most well-defended places in the world? Sure, one troll had been let loose by a Voldemort-possessed teacher and a basilisk had been in the castle from the start, but this was outrageous!

“What about Hogwarts’s protections, sir? Isn’t there something that can keep these monsters out?”

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. “They appeared _within_ Hogwarts and are animated by a magic that existed long before the Founders spun their web of wards. More than that, the monsters or their master appear to have affected the wards; no one and nothing can enter or leave the castle grounds.” His expression was grim. “The Dementors were repelled by the foreign magic, so there is no danger of them attacking students. However, these new creatures have taken up that job quite handily. They will attack any person that comes within range, and few are equipped to fight them off. If not for the wards, we would have begun letting students return home.”

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the sword. It had caused him so much trouble, and yet…“I think I know what to do,” he said. The sword was specifically designed for this sort of thing, and it happened to be bonded with him. He knew he could handle this sort of thing; what was a bat or a pig-man compared to a basilisk? Who knew, maybe fighting these things would help teach him how to defend himself if Sirius Black ever came a-knocking.

“Urgh, what the hell happened to me?”

The red-haired Harry was waking up. Madam Pomfrey, who’d been puttering on the other side of the room to give Harry and the Headmaster some privacy, hurried over to tend to the other Harry.

“Can’t you see I’m fine?” the boy snapped when Madam Pomfrey ran one too many diagnostic spells over him. “Honestly, it was just a—Merlin’s balls!” he swore when he took notice of Harry. “There’s a ‘me’ with green hair!” His red eyes were as round as coins.

Harry clapped a hand over his bangs and then glanced questioningly at Professor Dumbledore. The man gave a slight nod.

“You look like me with a red hair stripe,” Harry told the boy. “Your eyes are red, too.”

“Really?” The boy grinned. “ _Wicked_.”

Another Harry roused. The one with a stripe of yellow in his hair stretched and scanned the room with wondering, honey-colored eyes. “There’s four of me?” he gasped. “Oh my, I don’t think I ever should have followed that snake.” He smiled fondly. “It was awful cute, though!”

“‘Awfully’, you mean,” another voice drawled. The blue Harry sat up. “Grammar, you know.” He looked over at Harry, who tensed under his judging sapphire stare. “So you’re the original, are you?” he asked. “I never pegged myself for a Slytherin.”

“I’m not a Ravenclaw, either,” Harry shot back.

“Don’t argue with yourself, Mister Potter. You’ll disturb my other patients,” Madam Pomfrey scolded.

“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry and his blue twin said contritely.

“Hmph.” The nurse went to run spells over the yellow Harry.

“So you lot are me? Same memories and everything?” the red Harry asked. “You know what happened, then?”

The other three Harrys nodded.

“You all get a sword out of it, too?” Red Harry picked up the sheathed sword that lay that the end of his bed. The jewel in its hilt was red, but the weapon was otherwise identical to the one that sat at Harry’s feet.

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “The _sword_ multiplied, too?” He turned to Professor Dumbledore, who wore an amused smile. “Professor, do you think we could make more copies of the sword? Maybe give it to the teachers so they can fight off the monsters?”

“No, I’m afraid not. The sword appears to have only one master, and that is you, Harry.”

“Does that mean I get to fight monsters?” Red Harry asked with a wide grin. “I’ve always wanted to use a sword again. Sticking it through a snake’s mouth wasn’t near as cool as this!”

“‘Nearly’, you mean. You know this, Red,” Blue Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “I can’t say I look forward to hacking at things with a sharp metal stick. It seems childish to me.”

“We _are_ children,” Yellow Harry pointed out.

“Which is why this shouldn’t be our job,” Blue Harry rebutted. He looked put out when Madam Pomfrey came to buzz over him with her medical spells.

“We knocked out a troll first year, beat Quirrelmort, and took down a great bloody basilisk second year. We’re the best men for the job, I say,” Red Harry insisted. He raised his sword, glee sparkling in his eyes. “This is so _wicked_.”

“So says the resident Gryffindor,” Blue Harry scoffed, waving Madam Pomfrey off. “Say, Professor, we aren’t all going to Lions’ Den, are we? Wouldn’t that cause an uneven distribution of the third-year class, not to mention force students into a House they’re incompatible with?”

“For now, until you’ve gotten more acquainted with yourselves, I think it best that you all stay in Gryffindor Tower. Your dormitory will be expanded to accommodate all of you,” Professor Dumbledore said. “After that, I can take you to my office to be Sorted.” He stood up from his chair. “Come along, Misters Potter. You’ll need a teacher escort to brave the journey back to your dorm.”

The Harrys took up their swords, slid the straps over their shoulders, and followed Professor Dumbledore out of the Hospital Wing. Even Blue Harry, the most reluctant to mingle with Gryffindors, was eager to escape the stifling confines of Madam Pomfrey’s territory.

The halls of Hogwarts were eerily empty. A few clusters of students could be seen, each led by a teacher and scampering quickly with wands at the ready. Harry constantly turned his head, wary of monsters. Though he’d used a sword to beat the basilisk, that had been less skill and more luck. He really had no idea how to handle a sword, and he was sure he’d fare badly if he came across a pig-man or huge suit of armor at his current level.

A hand touched his shoulder and Harry jumped, his feet actually leaving the ground. When he whirled around, he saw Yellow Harry giving him an apologetic smile.

“You don’t have to be so worried, Green,” the boy said. “We’ve got Professor Dumbledore with us. He’s a great wizard. He’ll keep us safe.”

Harry forced a friendly expression to placate the optimistic boy. Silently, he wondered how much a wizard’s magic could do against one of the creatures, even if it was Professor Dumbledore’s magic.

He got his answer when a group of shadowy bats phased through the wall and then swooped at them like diving falcons. Professor Dumbledore made a sweeping motion with his wand and a wave of flame cut through the small swarm. All but two vanished in puffs of purplish-black smoke. Red Harry delighted in unsheathing his sword and swatting the survivors out of the air.

“See? It isn’t hard to use a sword at all!” he proclaimed once the bats had disappeared.

Blue Harry snorted. “Oh, yes, all praise the mighty Bat-Slayer. Those tiny flying rats never stood a chance.” He ignored the scowl Red Harry sent his way and serenely glided past him.

“I think _he’s_ the Slytherin,” Red Harry muttered to Harry. “He sounds like a smarter Malfoy, I swear.”

Harry nodded in agreement. He’d rather the blue Harry was the Slytherin than himself. Despite what the Sorting Hat had said back in first year, he didn’t feel like a scheming Snake at all.

The Harrys made it to Gryffindor Tower without further incident, though they did get to catch a glimpse of three seventh-year Gryffindors pummeling a huge, muscular, pig-faced man with Beater’s bats before Professor Dumbledore ushered them through the portrait hole. “I do hope you’ll keep out of trouble, boys,” the Headmaster said sternly before dashing off to help the seventh-years.

“This school year is going to be _brilliant_!” Red Harry crowed. “I can’t wait to have a go at one of those things!”

Harry, who had come to notice the entire common room was gawping at him and his clones, tapped Red Harry on the shoulder. The boy glanced at him curiously and then seemed to realize he was the center of attention. “Oh. Er, hello,” Red Harry said with an awkward wave. “Didn’t see you there.”

The common room unfroze. One fifth-year was the first to speak, summing up everyone’s thoughts quite succinctly. “Potter, what the hell?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets to witness the changes to Hogwarts up close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Moblins in this fic have the appearance and abilities of Wind Waker Moblins, as well as the abilities of Minish Cap Moblins. They can wield various weapons, dash at people like they have Pegasus Boots, and punch people if they're disarmed. They're going to be high-level enemies for a good while in this fic.

Harry was glad when Ron and Hermione dragged him and Yellow away from the impromptu interrogation session being held in the common room. Red Harry had stormed out, pushing aside anyone in his way, and Blue had glared and made sarcastic jabs at everyone until they left him alone, leaving Yellow and normal Harry to fend everyone off. Everyone had had questions, and none of the Harrys had been able to answer them satisfactorily:

Why were there four Harrys? The sword did it. Why were there monsters? The sword did it. Where had they gotten the sword? The Chamber of Secrets. Why had there been a sword there? Er, because why not? Was it the Sword of Gryffindor? Not unless all the rubies had fallen out.

The past half hour had been nothing but circular questioning along those lines. Harry was ready to flop down on his bed and pretend that afternoon had never happened, but Ron and Hermione had questions of their own.

“You went down to the _Chamber of Secrets_ , Harry? What if there were more basilisks down there, or some other ancient Slytherin beast? You could have been _killed_!” Hermione shrilled. “Are you alright? I mean, apart from there being more of you?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. I broke my nose and got a chill, but Madam Pomfrey fixed me right up.”

“You’re not a Slytherin now, are you?” Ron asked suspiciously.

“No, Ron, I’m normal Harry. My eyes were just green to begin with,” Harry said with a hint of exasperation. While Malfoy’s gang and the Slytherin Quidditch team’s underhanded tactics had given Harry a firm dislike and distrust of Slytherins, he had never shared Ron’s intense animosity. “If anyone’s a Snake, I’d say it’s Blue. I think he might be a mix of Slytherin and Ravenclaw.”

“Let it never be said that cleverness and ambition are mutually exclusive,” Blue said from where he lounged on his newly added bed. He had his nose buried in a Potions book identical to Harry’s. They’d found that, in addition to Harry, the sword had multiplied all the boy’s belongings as well.

Ron goggled at Blue. “It’s like you’ve been possessed by Snape!” he hissed at Harry. “He’ll be calling us ‘dunderheads’ next!”

All four Harrys snorted at the mental image of Harry dramatically billowing through the halls like the Great Bat.

“It’s _Professor_ Snape, and being intelligent isn’t a crime,” Hermione chided Ron. “I think it’ll be nice to have a study partner. That is, if you’d like to, Blue.”

Blue harry gave her a thumbs-up, not lowering his book.

“Well, there you have it, then,” Hermione said with satisfaction.

“I-I’d like to study with you, too,” Yellow said timidly. “I’ve never been good at taking notes, and my attention span is kinda short.”

Hermione was delighted. “Of course I’ll help you study,” she said with a bright smile. She gave Harry a pointed look.

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” He raised his hands in front of him. “I can make do with the usual.”

The girl sighed. “It was worth an effort,” she muttered.

“And what about you?” Ron asked of Red. “Green Harry’s normal, Blue Harry’s another Snape, and Yellow Harry’s a Hufflepuff. What kind of Harry are you?”

Red pointed at the colored stripe in his hair, then at his scarlet bed hangings. “I’m the Gryffindor. Duh.”

“But Harry’s already a Gryffindor.”

“Well, I’m _more_ Gryffindor.”

“He’s a sword-happy hothead, in other words,” Blue clarified. “You two should get along swimmingly.” Ron and Red shot Blue matching glares, which made the boy smirk.

“So, could you tell us about what we missed while we were asleep?” Harry asked Hermione. “Dumbledore said magic-resistant monsters were popping up all over the castle. Have they attacked a lot of students?”

“Surprisingly, no. I think maybe five were sent to the Hospital Wing with bruises. The monsters seem more concerned about guarding certain corridors than anything else. They just walk to and fro.” She waved a finger back and forth. “They have terrible eyesight, as well. They’ll only attack if you’re in front of them and maybe eight meters off. Fred and George checked.” She rolled her eyes. “They also decided to see what attacks were most effective by running ‘tests’ on one of the pig-men outside.”

Ron laughed. “They went at it with every spell they knew and then clubbed the thing with their Beater’s bats. It had a spear, but they took that and started stabbing at it, too. It bled this weird smoke and then just went ‘poof’.” He mimed an expanding cloud. “I reckon all these monsters are just balls of magic. You know, like a conjured chair or something. You hit it enough and it’ll vanish like any other conjured thing.”

Hermione and Harry gaped at him.

“ _Yes_ , I have good ideas sometimes,” he huffed. “I _do_ have a brain.”

“Pity you don’t use those smarts more often,” Blue remarked.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, realized he’d been served a backhanded compliment, and grumbled under his breath instead.

“Say, are classes still on?” Blue asked. “I know most schools would have cancelled everything during a crisis like this, but Hogwarts has never followed the laws of reason.”

“We’re on a normal class schedule, with teachers escorting us through the halls,” Hermione told him.

Blue cackled. “Of course! I’m sure no one will blow themselves up in Potions when a bat dives at their head.”

Ron shrugged. “Can’t be much different from having the Greasy Git swooping around. A shadow-bat would probably be less annoying, actually.”

Everyone but Hermione had a snigger at that.

* * *

On Tuesday morning, Harry awoke before sunrise. It had been a challenge to coax himself to sleep, and his rest had been fitful even then.

Harry’s body buzzed with nervous energy. Hogwarts had been invaded, there were four of him, and a _murderer_ was trying to hunt him down. The school year had barely begun, yet it had already gone down the toilet!

Unable to sit still, Harry went through his morning routine and then headed down to the common room. At six in the morning, he doubted any but the earliest of early-birds were out of their dorms.

He was surprised to see Yellow and Blue curled up on a couch before the hearth. Yellow picked idly at a threadbare spot in the upholstery, while Blue read his way through an Arithmancy textbook.

The blue-eyed boy glanced up from his book at Harry’s entrance. “Was I always such an insomniac, or is the strangeness of this situation just getting to me?” he wondered aloud.

“Hard to sleep when you keep seeing talking eyeballs,” Yellow said, yawning. “Make sure I don’t conk out during Potions, okay?”

Blue’s lips quirked. “I’m sure Snape’s barely-contained outrage at your existence will keep you awake quite nicely.”

“Oh, yeah. Never mind, then.” Yellow leaned over the side of the couch to look upside-down at Harry. “Did the talking eyeballs get you, too?” he asked.

“More the weirdness of everything, I think,” Harry said. He sat down between Blue and Yellow, his nerves easing slightly as he did. It felt natural— _right_ , even—to be near his other selves. “Red is the only one getting any sleep.”

Blue grumbled something about “Gryffindor thick-headedness” into the pages of his book.

“I wonder what’s different about the castle today,” Yellow mused.

Harry regarded him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Well, yesterday and the day before, stuff changed in the castle. That’s what the twins told me, anyway,” he said. “A couple corridors led somewhere else, there were weird statues in some spots, and one painting—that nutter who showed us the way to Divination—switched from one side of the castle to the other. Oh, and there were these big floor-button-thingies outside a boys’ bathroom on the third floor that four people had to stand on to open the door. It kept resetting every hour or so.”

“Except for the ‘floor-button-thingies’, that sounds normal for Hogwarts,” Harry said, thinking of the castle’s notoriously unpredictable staircases. The corridors had a habit of changing destinations, as well; Harry knew of one hallway near the Great Hall that would send him up to the fourth floor on Mondays and to the dungeons on Saturdays. “We should keep an eye out for anything weird, though, just in case.”

Blue’s smirk could be seen from over the edge of his borrowed textbook. “‘Look out for anything strange’, said the boy to his yellow-eyed clone.”

Harry blushed. “You know what I mean!”

* * *

Breakfast was had in a temporary chamber added to the common room. It held two smaller versions of the tables in the Great Hall, each with the Gryffindor crest hanging above it on a gold and scarlet pennant. Harry and Blue pushed their eggs and bacon around their respective plates, too anxious to eat. As Yellow, Red, and Ron scarfed down their breakfasts, they shared a commiserating glance across the table.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked in concern. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Just nervous,” he told her. “You’ve had time to get used to what’s going on. I only saw a glimpse of it when Dumbledore got us from the Hospital Wing.”

Ron opened his mouth to speak, then chewed and swallowed at a glare from Hermione. “Don’t worry, Harry. The monsters are too dumb to do any _real_ damage. I mean, if you were on your own, you could die, but there’ll be a whole lot of us going to Potions with you.” Satisfied that he’d done his part, he continued inhaling his eggs.

“I know it sounds dour, but it’s true,” Hermione said. “There’s safety in numbers.”

At Harry’s other side, Yellow muttered, “My friends are really bad at pep-talks.”

_‘They try, though,’_ Harry thought fondly as he took a stab at finishing his bacon.

A frazzled-looking Professor McGonagall was the one to fetch Harry’s Potions class. Her witch’s hat, normally tall and proud, sagged to one side and her robes bore a number of small rips. A trio of thin red stripes marked one cheek in a mockery of whiskers. Despite this, the woman’s eyes shone with a fierce inner fire.

“Are you sure that is appropriate, Mister Potter?” she asked as Harry stepped through the portrait hole.

“What do you mean?” Harry looked down at himself. He was dressed, he had his tie on, he had his schoolbag, and his sword—

Oh, right.

“I’ll take it back to my dorm,” he said sheepishly. “Me and my, er, other selves.” He waved to Blue, who waited outside with Ron and Hermione, and pointed to the sword strapped to his back. His twin blinked in surprise, as if only now noticing he wore a sword as well.

“Professor, I don’t think these things ‘come off’, exactly,” Blue said to Professor McGonagall. “I tested mine last night, and it reappears on me if I move five meters from it. The other Harrys would have the same problem, I expect.”

McGonagall pursed her lips, though didn’t protest. Harry wondered if she’d been one of the teachers who’d tested the sword for curses. “Though the Headmaster has explained to everyone on staff the reason why you’re wearing that weapon, I’m sure you’re familiar with Professor Snape’s dislike of distractions within his class,” she said. “Don’t be surprised if he tells you to leave your weapons at the door. A cluttered Potions classroom is a dangerous one.”

_‘That sounds like code for “it’s your funeral, Mister Potter”,’_ Harry thought uneasily as the teacher went to the head of the group. “Snape’s going to kill us,” he groaned.

“He can _try_ ,” Blue said with a shrug. “I think Ron and Red might get to us first. They said they were going to team up if Snape assigned partner-work today.”

With a shudder, Harry joined the rest of his class as they began walking down the hall.

Hogwarts was terribly quiet. Every step seemed to echo for eons, the sound of hushed chatter more akin to a shouted discussion. Harry saw clusters of other students here and there—different Houses, different years—all huddled around their respective teachers. Faces were drawn and shoulders were defensively hunched. The silence of Hogwarts seemed to amplify the awful anticipation of an attack.

The tense hush was broken by a loud grunt to Harry’s left. Seized by an odd reflex, he threw himself to the ground. As he did, something large and fast whistled overhead.

Seamus Finnigan’s voice was the first to pierce the baffled silence that followed. “Blimey, they have _arrows_ now?”

Harry glanced right—yes, that _was_ an arrow, and an impressive one—and then looked left. He saw the pig-man, a two-meter-tall hulk of rippling muscle and pinkish-beige skin, ready another arrow on its longbow.

Professor McGonagall sent a spell at the creature that made it wobble back a step. “Get clear!” she barked at the Gryffindors. They took off like champion sprinters toward the end of the corridor.

Harry started to run, and then hesitated. Didn’t he have a sword intended to banish evil? It wasn’t right to leave Professor McGonagall futilely launching spells when he had the solution to the problem strapped to his back.

Just as he was thinking this, Red ran by with his sword held high. The battle-cry of a prepubescent child wasn’t exactly fearsome, but the boy was certainly enthusiastic. Blue and Yellow ran after him, calling him a “blithering idiot” and a “stupid-head”. Harry decided to join in the chase.

“M-Mister Potter!?” McGonagall yelped when they blew past her. “What are you doing?”

Harry didn’t answer, too occupied with dodging the javelin-sized arrow the monster had sent at his chest. He threw himself to the side and landed in a clumsy heap. “That thing has good aim!” he cried.

Yellow grabbed ahold of Red’s robes and yanked him out of another arrow’s flight path. “Yeah, so how do we run away while it’s shooting us?” he asked. “We can’t dodge what we can’t see!”

“Well, thanks to the resident Gryffindor, we _can’t_ run,” Blue said grimly, unsheathing his sword. “Why don’t we see how much damage four Harry Potters can do?”

Harry pressed himself flat against the floor to avoid an arrow and then pulled out his own sword. “We might as well, I guess.”

“Pair up with Green!” Yellow instructed Red, pushing him in front of the pig-man. The golden-eyed boy gripped his sword and took a swing at the monster’s middle. When the beast hopped forward to avoid the attack, Harry and Red lunged with their blades outstretched. Blue came at it from the side, wielding his sword like a sharp-edged bat. The monster roared in pain at the smoking gash that opened along its back and flank.

“Come and get me, you great brute!” the blue-eyed boy taunted as the pig-man swiped at him with its bow.

The remaining Harrys took advantage of the creature’s turned back and hacked away for all they were worth. After a few chops on each boy’s part, the monster disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke. Something hit the floor with a rattle, and all four of them looked down. A fist-sized, triangular blue gem lay glittering on the dull stone.

“Some kind of treasure, you reckon?” Red asked. He leaned down to pick up the jewel, only to freeze when Professor McGonagall’s enraged voice rang out.

“Mister Potter, what in Merlin’s name did you think you were doing?!”

The woman stormed over, an air of wrath crackling around her. “Were a troll, a teacher, and a basilisk not enough? Must you challenge the next thing that attempts to take off your head?” she snapped. “Detention in my office tonight at six o’ clock and ten points from Gryffindor,” Her eyes narrowed dangerously, “for _each_ of you, Mister Potter.”

Three Harrys hung their heads, but one wasn’t going to take this offense lying down. “We _saved_ you!” Red shouted. “Your spells weren’t working!”

“You nearly got yourself pinned to the wall, Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall said with icy calm, her flared nostrils white with anger. “ _Three_ detentions for you. Today, Thursday, and Friday, all at six o’ clock.”

“But Professor—!”

“Must I raise it to a full week?”

Red snapped his mouth shut and dropped his gaze to his shoes.

“What else did you think would happen?” Blue hissed at him once Professor McGonagall had left earshot. “Have you completely forgotten first year?”

Harry wilted a bit. To be honest, Professor McGonagall’s likely reaction had slipped his mind as well. He’d been more concerned about slaying the thing firing arrows at him and bravely defending his class in the process. Maybe he could be a little _too_ Gryffindor-ish, sometimes.

“I don’t need another Hermione,” Red growled, snatching up the gem left behind by the monster. He shoved it into his bag. “Let’s just get to class.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potions class gets a little too exciting and Harry has a midnight meeting with Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! This year sucked, but at least we can be cautiously hopeful for the next.  
> Anyway, writing Snape is so hard! I like doing it, but I'm constantly worried I'm doing it wrong. I hope I got him (and McGonagall) decently in-character here. Also I've posted an example of the kinds of videogame shenanigans going on in the castle to my Tumblr, if you want a visual.

“That was completely _mental_ , mate,” Harry heard Ron say to Red. “Mental, but brilliant. Where’d you learn how to do that?”

Red puffed his chest out proudly. “Natural skill,” he boasted. “Like Quidditch. I was just meant to fight.”

Blue rolled his eyes. “We were staggering about like drunken toddlers with pointy sticks,” he said. “The only reason we won is because there were four of us and its only weapon was a bow. Can you _imagine_ what would have happened if we’d gone up against one of the spear-wielders? Or if the numbers were fair?”

The wind seemed to peter out of Red’s sails. “Maybe we could get some practice in,” he conceded.

Shrieks from the front of the group brought the Harrys up short. They stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the crowd, but almost everyone in the class was taller than them.

Hermione, who had a few centimeters on Harry, whispered, “It’s this big shadowy hand, reaching up from the ground. I’ve heard that they’ll grab you and teleport you to the doors of the Great Hall if you get too close.”

“The Great Hall is closer to the Potions classroom than the fourth floor,” Blue commented. “Does it hurt to get teleported? Is there any significant time lag when traveling between locations?”

“According to the Ravenclaw I talked to, it doesn’t cause much more than a bruise upon landing and the teleportation is nearly instant. It’s just annoying to be snatched up on your way to one of the towers and tossed out on the first floor.”

Harry knew exactly what Blue was thinking, and shared a considering look with him. Maybe they’d experiment later, when McGonagall wasn’t around to pile on detentions. The Weasley twins would definitely be on board with that plan.

Professor McGonagall managed to scare off the floor-hand with a whip of fire. The monster sank into a magenta-lined puddle of inky darkness and slid down the hall. “Come quickly, before it returns!” Professor McGonagall urged. She led her troop of nervous third-years through several more corridors and staircases without further incident, but for a few bats that were easily dealt with. The class breathed a collective sigh of relief when they finally reached the Potions classroom. That relief soon turned to confusion when they noticed the Slytherin third-years clustered outside the door.

“Aren’t we late?” Hermione asked. “Why are they standing around outside?”

Their answer came in the form of a series of large colored blocks that formed a barricade around the classroom’s door. Snape stood in front of them, flicking his wand agitatedly. His black eyes lanced the stone cubes with more hatred than he’d ever aimed at Harry. With every movement of his wand his glare grew a little more deadly.

“They’re projecting a magical barrier to prevent anyone from climbing over,” he growled to Professor McGonagall. “I’ve been locked out for twenty minutes now.”

“Here, Severus, let me assist you.” Professor McGonagall joined the younger professor in sending spells. The unnaturally-hued stone soaked up every dose of magic with ease. Whether spoken or silent, no spell left a single mark. Professor McGonagall even tried the fire-whip she’d used earlier, to no avail.

Ron watched their efforts with an odd expression on his face, glanced at the cluster of multicolored Harrys, and then turned back to the colorful blockade. “Er, Harry, you notice anything about those blocks?” he asked.

“They have to be part of the same magic as the monsters, that’s for sure,” Harry agreed. “If I sent a blasting spell like that at one of the walls in Hogwarts, I’m pretty sure it’d leave a dent.”

Blue slapped him upside the head. “He means the _colors_ , genius. Look at the blocks again.”

With a scowl in his clone’s direction, Harry rubbed the back of his head and studied the stone cubes more closely. His eyes widened in realization. They were _color-coded_! Three grey blocks on either side of the door, with four vibrantly-hued ones sandwiched between. One green, one yellow, another red, and the fourth a deep blue.

“Ohhh.” He rubbed his chin in consideration. “What do we do about them, though? We can’t push them out of the way; they must weigh a quarter-ton each!” Each stone cube was half Harry’s height and had the speckled look of granite. There was no way his thin frame could budge one of those blocks even a millimeter.

“It’s worth a shot. What’s the point of braving monsters in the halls if you don’t get an education out of it?” Blue marched toward the blocks, grabbing Red and Yellow as he went.

Harry hung back, torn between assisting his other selves and crossing Snape’s path. The Potions Master was angrier than Harry had ever seen him, and the boy was sure he’d get blamed for locking everyone out of the classroom. Snape was probably the least understanding man alive and an explanation of “I broke the seal on an ancient evil so it wouldn’t break out on its own, and then the evil did this” was hard enough to swallow without Snape’s personality getting involved.

An image of green eyes joining the jars of horrible pickled things in Snape’s office made Harry shiver. He hung back, choosing to let his cooler-headed counterpart confront Snape. Blue was smart. He’d know what to do, right?

Hermione sidled up to him, biting her lower lip. “I know Professor Snape is a teacher, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for Blue to speak with him at the moment,” she fretted. “Should I have stopped him?”

Ron watched the developing scene with horrified fascination. “No…No, I don’t think someone like that can be stopped,” he said faintly.

Calm as you please, Blue walked up to the professors and cleared his throat. Snape looked over his shoulder, and then did the slightest of double-takes at the sight of three Harry Potters. He whirled in a column of swirling robes and favored all three boys with his patented sneer. McGonagall just turned around and sighed.

“Mister Potter, have you come to offer a suggestion?” she asked wearily.

Snape’s dark eyes flicked to her, his expression becoming a somewhat more respectful scowl. “Surely you aren’t consulting _this_ boy for a plan of action?”

“Feel free to ask one of your Snakes, Severus,” Professor McGonagall told him. “I’ve sent every Transfiguration and offensive spell I feel safe casting around students, and nothing has left a mark. Perhaps someone among your House might have an idea?” She directed her attention back to Blue. “Now, what did you wish to say, Mister Potter?”

“The blocks are color-coded, Professor,” he declared, pointing from the sapphire block to himself. “I don’t know whether it’s by House or they’re directly tied to those cursed by the sword, but my best guess is that each is meant to be pushed in such a way that that the path to the doorway is opened.”

“A waif like you couldn’t possibly move something that size,” Snape scoffed. He ignored the frown of rebuke Professor McGonagall gave him.

“Hey! I’m not a—mmf!” Red’s yell was muffled when Yellow frantically clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth.

Blue crossed his arms and stood his ground. “Why not call up Crabbe or Goyle to push the green block, then, sir?” he suggested. “We could test to see whether the magic responds to House or Harry.”

“Don’t give me orders, Potter, or I’ll take points,” Snape said coolly. “Mister Crabbe, get over here.”

The big third-year broke away from Malfoy’s group and trundled over to the teacher’s side. “Yes, Professor?”

“Push the green block. I imagine it shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

“Okay.” Crabbe trotted up to the cube of emerald granite and gave it a hard shove. It slid back precisely one block’s-width after only a moment’s resistance. “Wasn’t as heavy as I thought,” he grunted.

Snape’s eyes narrowed and then focused on Blue. “Get on with it, Potter. You’re late enough for class as it is.”

Blue flashed him a cheery smile. “Why, of course, Professor!” Harry saw the boy’s smile turn to a smirk as soon as his back was turned. “Wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.” He pushed the blue block inward and then directed Red to do the same with his designated cube. Yellow then pushed his block sideways, in front of the green one. Once the puzzle was completed, the stones turned grey and the entire blockade disappeared in a puff of white smoke.

Snape’s lip curled in contempt. “Well, it seems you’ve had a proper idea for once. Don’t get a swelled head,” he drawled. To the Slytherins, he called, “Come along. We have work to do.” He swept into the classroom.

Professor McGonagall sighed. “Oh, Severus…” She gave Blue a nod of approval. “Ten points to Gryffindor for your wit. If you keep it up, you might just make up for your foolhardiness this morning.” She walked off in the direction of the Transfiguration classroom.

Double Potions with the Slytherins started off normally despite (or possibly in deliberate spite of) the unusual delay. Snape was in a bad mood, but Harry was sure that would change as soon as a Gryffindor made a mistake he could insult them for.

They were brewing a Disenchantment Solution today, a potion meant to drain the magic from an object. It could also be used to undo Transfigurations and vanish conjured objects if a simple _Evanesco_ or _Finite Incantatem_ wouldn’t do. Harry, of course, had learned none of this from Snape; instead, Blue had claimed the bench next to his and shoved a page of concise notes into his hands. “To keep you from bringing the Great Bat down on our heads,” the boy had explained in an undertone.

Harry and his partner Seamus were halfway through brewing their potion, which was just a couple shades off of the correct lime green, when a shadow-bat phased through the wall. Though Harry hadn’t gotten used to the sight of such creatures in Hogwarts (not at all!), he knew the bat was fairly harmless. He kept a wary eye on it while he turned the flame under his potion to a lower level and let Seamus add pinches of dried Mandrake root.

Unfortunately, not all of the students in the classroom shared his and Seamus’s “live and let live” attitude. Malfoy shrieked at the sight of the bat and ducked under his work table, setting off an explosion of panic. Lavender screeched and threw her ladle at the creature, flinging greenish orange potion onto everyone sitting in front of her. Some of the gooey muck splattered onto Ron’s exposed wrist, which caused him to hiss in pain and drop his chopping knife into his cauldron. A good-sized blob of it hit Pansy Parkinson between the shoulders, which sent her scrambling to pull off her smoking robes.

All of this, though, paled in the face of the disaster that was Neville’s cauldron. The poor boy had been trying very hard to do the potion right, and with Hermione helping to keep him calm, he had gotten closer to getting it perfect than ever before. The potion was supposed to be a bit volatile before the Mandrake root was added, which was why it had to be slowly sprinkled in at a low heat.

The bat had decided to swoop at Neville, who’d then flung his fistful of Mandrake at it. With its wings fouled by dried plant matter, the creature lost its ability to fly and landed in Neville’s lime-green potion.

Snape recognized the blue steam rising from Neville’s cauldron and his cold sneer became an expression of genuine dread. “OUT!” he roared at the class, casting a wordless spell that flung the door open. As students fled, he made a complicated motion with his wand that created a box of white light around the steaming cauldron. When the last student cleared the door, he followed right on her heels and slammed the door shut behind him.

BOOM!

The door to the Potions classroom rattled violently in its frame and tremors shook the floor. Two smaller explosions shook the dungeons as other half-done potions were set off.

No one moved after the explosions. All eyes were on Snape, whose face was frozen in an uncharacteristic look of shock.

“How on Earth…? No, such a violent reaction couldn’t possibly…” The professor stepped away from the door and then turned back to it. He waved his wand, muttering incantations too quietly for Harry to hear. When the door glowed noxious green, he tucked his wand back into his robes.

Snape spun around, his sallow skin tinged red with fury. “The _one_ time you get your potion right, Longbottom, you manage to cause more damage in a single _day_ than you have in the past _two years_!” he snarled at a cowering Neville. “Detention every weeknight for a _month_ , Mister Longbottom, and fifty points from Gryffindor!” He unleashed his venomous glare on the rest of the class. Even Malfoy, who usually loved to be the center of attention, edged back from him. “As for the rest of you, stay put! I’m going to have a discussion with the Headmaster.”

A Slytherin that Harry didn’t know gathered up the courage to protest, “B-But Professor, the monsters might—”

“Stay. Put,” Snape growled. He stormed down the corridor before anyone else could complain.

“Well, Longbottom, it seems you’ve set a new record for ‘Worst Potioneer’. I don’t think there’s been an explosion like that since before Professor Snape began teaching,” Malfoy taunted. “What do you plan to do next? Blow up half the castle?”

Neville seemed to be in too much shock to defend himself. His face was deathly white, and he shook like someone had dipped him in ice-water. He was too wound up to notice Hermione murmuring reassurances to him.

“ _You’re_ the one who screamed and gave everyone else a fright,” Ron shot at Malfoy. “Scared of a little bat, are you?”

“I was trying to frighten it away!” the blond defended. “You saw what it did to Lardbottom’s cauldron! What if it had landed in mine?”

“The rest of us would have been better off!”

Harry felt an impending sense of doom that had nothing to do with the intensifying argument. He scanned the hall while Red joined Ron in firing insults and Pansy added her shrill voice to the fray. Hogwarts had experienced a change just then, and Harry didn’t think it was for the better. What could it be? A grabby shadow-hand? Another pig-man archer? Wait, what was that?

The shape and size became recognizable very quickly. “Look out for marbles!” he cried.

Several people’s faces screwed up in confusion, Malfoy’s among them. “ _Marbles_ , Potter?” the boy asked. “Have you lost yours?”

Harry grabbed Malfoy by one scrawny arm and hauled him toward the side of the corridor. The other Gryffindors and Slytherins followed suit as soon as they saw the cause of Harry’s warning. They plastered themselves against the walls with only a couple of seconds to spare.

A massive ball of polished, blue-black metal rolled by. It took up almost the entire width of the corridor with its five-meter diameter, leaving a scant amount of space on either side. Malfoy was too shaken by the sight of it to snap at Harry for his manhandling.

“Hogwarts shouldn’t have anything like _that_!” he squeaked.

More metal spheres followed the first, most of them small enough to take up only a quarter of the hallway. The downside of this was that their arrow-straight paths spanned from wall to wall, forcing students to hop back and forth to avoid being squashed.

“We need to get back in the Potions classroom!” Red yelled over the sounds of screaming teenagers and rolling spheres.

“We can’t! It’s filled with poisonous gas!” Blue called back. He rolled out of one ball’s path and narrowly avoided running headlong into another. “Snape ran tests to check!”

“Then we’ll have to find another classroom!” Harry declared. He leapt between giant marbles, intent on a door on the right side of the hall. “Everyone, look for a spare classroom and get inside it!” he bellowed over his shoulder at the rest of his classmates.

“Not all of us are athletes, Potter!” someone, probably Malfoy, shouted behind him.

Harry dove for the wall as an enormous ball rolled by and sprinted along the edge of the corridor for his chosen classroom. He had to sidestep a pair of smaller spheres on the way there, but he managed to make it without getting knocked flat. A quick “ _Alohomora_ ” unlocked the door. He pulled it open and dove in just before a passing ball knocked the door shut.

“Made it,” he wheezed. Though Quidditch built muscle and endurance, flying muscles were not running-and-jumping muscles. He’d be feeling sore all over by the end of the day.

Once he’d caught his breath, he let his eyes rove over the unused classroom. Dusty tables and chairs were stacked up in one corner. At the back of the room was a blackboard with a teacher’s podium shoved up against it. Harry had expected to see those. What stood out was the large golden button that rose from the middle of the floor.

“A floor-button-thingy,” he murmured as he went to investigate. What had Yellow said these were for? Harry recalled him talking about unlocking bathrooms. Did that mean the door had locked behind him?

Harry trotted over and gave the door an experimental push. It opened, and then slammed shut as a marble rolled by. So, then, the door wasn’t a problem, just the marbles. Harry returned to the button and stepped on it. A slight tingle traveled up his leg, but he didn’t hear any telltale clicks of unlocking. Maybe the door was in another—

Wait. It was too quiet.

The boy’s brow furrowed and he eyed the door. Until then, the ominous sound of behemoth metal spheres rolling by had been fairly loud and constant. Where had the noise gone? He looked down at the button, which had turned grey under his foot, then went to the door.

Kicking the door open, he took a step back and waited for it to be forced shut again. It stayed open, so he poked his head outside and looked around. The balls were gone!

“Hey guys, did you step on the buttons, too?” he called to the other students cautiously exiting the spare classrooms.

Yellow skipped over from a classroom farther down the corridor. “Yep! I _knew_ the floor buttons were important!” he chirped. “Daphne thought I was dumb when I explained it to her, but I was right!”

“Did we just solve a puzzle?” Ron asked as he and Red left their classroom. “Because this seems an awful lot like ‘catch the flying key’ and ‘cross the giant chessboard’. You think Snape put us up to this?”

“Are you _mad_? Professor Snape would never put his students through such a thing!” Malfoy stalked up from one of the farther classrooms, his cheeks pink from exertion and his grey eyes shining with ire. He looked as much of a mess as someone so posh could get; Harry thought he might have seen a few white-blond hairs out of place. “When I find out who did this, my father is going to _ruin_ them!”

With Crabbe and Goyle in tow, Malfoy stomped past Harry, who jumped when he felt something shift in his pocket. Reaching into it, he came across a slip of parchment. A note? Since when had Malfoy passed him notes, except to annoy him while Snape was waiting to take points?

“I don’t know about all of you, but I’m going to go up to my dorm. If Snape has a problem, he can shove it,” Red announced. “Anyone with me?”

And so ended, for Harry and half of the Gryffindor third-years, the shortest Potions lesson in memory.

* * *

Harry fingered the note in his right pocket. “The trophy room. Midnight. Alone, Potter. That means one of you,” it had read. Given Malfoy’s complete lack of acknowledgment toward his other selves that morning, he’d halfway assumed the blond hadn’t noticed them. Maybe he and the other Slytherins had been too caught off guard to come up with fitting insults at the time, so they’d pretended the other Harrys didn’t exist for the time being. That sounded about right.

He’d decided not to tell anyone else, even himselves, about the note. Malfoy had given it to him in secret, and he wanted to know why. The boy was almost as ostentatious as Lockhart; he wanted _everyone_ to know how much he hated his rival, which was why most of his taunts took place in the more populated areas of Hogwarts. This was a definite change of pace.

It was for this reason that Harry was puttering around the trophy room at 11:55pm, reading all the engraved names. He wasn’t particularly worried about Filch or Mrs. Norris finding him. The halls were too dangerous for the ill-tempered man and his demonic cat to run their usual rounds. On top of that, Harry had his Invisibility Cloak. It was currently crammed into his left robe pocket, since he didn’t want Malfoy seeing it, but he took security in its presence.

Malfoy showed up precisely at midnight, a sour look on his face. Harry tensed, wondering for a moment whether the boy was going to call a duel. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Relax, Potter. I’m not here to curse you,” Malfoy said with a sneer.

Harry moved his hand away from the wand in his pocket. “What are we here for, then?”

“To talk.” The blond leaned against a display case, putting his uninjured hand on his hip. “You saved me today.” He made it sound like a condemnation.

“I’m…sorry?” Harry said uncertainly. “If you want, I can swear not to do it again. And, er, tell the other Harrys, too.”

“If you think I’m stupid enough to say I’d rather _die_ than accept a Gryffindor’s help, you’ve less brains than I thought.”

Harry choked on his intended reply. He’d expected an insult, not…whatever that had been. “But you _hate_ me,” he spluttered instead.

“You spurned my offer of friendship in front of a _Weasley_ ,” the boy said. “Of course I hate you. You might as well have launched a tart at my face in the Great Hall.”

“You trash-talked the first friend I’d ever made and then told me you’d help me make friends with ‘the right sort’.” He formed quotations with his fingers. “You acted like someone who made my life hell, growing up.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t comparing me with a _Muggle_ , are you? Any half-wit can tell you didn’t grow up among proper people.”

Harry sighed. “Why did you want to talk to me, Malfoy?”

With a little huff at the topic-change, the blond said, “You saved my life. I owe you a life-debt, and a Malfoy does _not_ owe life-debts. My father would disown me if he knew.” He shuddered. “So what do you want? You aren’t as rich as I am, so I could give you some of my allowance if you want gold.”

 _‘He thinks I care about money?’_ Harry thought with a mental eye-roll. While he was a Gryffindor, he wasn’t as impulsive as Malfoy assumed. He knew how to stop and think.

This life-debt thing sounded important. How much he could call in, he wasn’t sure. It had to be worth something, though, this owed favor.

 _‘Blue would know what to do with this,’_ he mused. “I won’t make a decision yet,” he told Malfoy. “I think I’ll sit on it for now.”

Malfoy was dumbstruck. “Y-You will? But I offered you money.”

“I didn’t grow up with money, Malfoy. What I have is more than enough.” He grinned at the look of helpless confusion that flashed across the young aristocrat’s face. “You saw that blue Harry today, didn’t you? He’s my inner Slytherin. Even if he’s walking around, I still have it.” He crossed his arms. “I’m going to wait and see what happens. I don’t need a favor now, but maybe I will. So yeah, I’m going to sit on it.”

“Hmph.” Malfoy pushed away from the display case and stood up straight. “You’re smarter than your choice in friends would suggest.” A small amount of respect softened his expression of disdain. “Why _are_ there four of you, anyway? The Headmaster stopped by the day everything started going to pieces and told us ‘a sword did it’ in that meandering way of his. Crazy old coot.”

“That’s actually what happened,” Harry said with a shrug. “The sword was holding in some great evil, I pulled it out before the evil could break it and escape anyway, and then the evil did all of this.” He gestured vaguely toward the castle around them.

“With all its unfathomable ancient magic, it decided to turn Hogwarts into a monster-filled puzzle-box,” Malfoy said flatly. “How creative.”

“I mean, it might be doing stuff outside, too. For all we know, it could be raining fire over London while we’re locked up in the castle.”

Malfoy frowned in thought. His eyes glazed over as his mental cogs creaked into motion. A half-minute passed before he said, “You need to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Harry repeated dumbly. “For what, your terrible social skills? You basically introduced yourself as a bratty arse and then said ‘hullo, I’d like to turn you into a pompous prat, too’.”

“If you had been raised among the right sort, you would have recognized my offer as one of _friendship_ , albeit a somewhat tactless one. I was _eleven_ , Potter. Hardly a master of reading the situation.” He cleared his throat. “However, this is not about that. Not exactly. You see, when you rejected me, you declared your family a political enemy of my family. If you apologize, we can be allies.” He smiled, a thing of cold calculation and dark satisfaction. “You and your copies have the sword that can fix this mess. I have social connections and influence within this school. We would benefit from an alliance.”

“Er…” Harry was really starting to wish he’d sent Blue out here instead of himself. While he wasn’t as fixated on telling the truth as Hermione, Harry considered himself an honest person. Telling a harmless lie here and there was a world apart from making midnight deals with Draco-sodding- _Malfoy_.

“I’ll take the deal, of course,” a smoother, calmer version of Harry’s voice declared. Blue stepped into the trophy room and closed the door behind him.

Harry stared at him in shock. When had he gotten here? How, without his own Invisibility Cloak? Unless that had been copied along with everything else, like his trunk and school supplies.

“In exchange for you holding that venomous tongue of yours around my friends. It wouldn’t do for an ally of the Potter family to sling slurs and epithets at fellow allies, would it?” Blue continued.

“It isn’t my fault Potter decided to make friends with a Weasel and a Mud—”

Blue’s eyes narrowed and he took a quick step toward Malfoy. If he were half a head taller, he’d have loomed over the Slytherin boy. “Finish that word, and we go from rivals to enemies,” Blue snapped.

Malfoy defensively raised the hand not suspended in a sling. “Fine, Potter, have it your way. I’ll call her a muggleborn instead. Will you apologize now so we can get on with this alliance? It’s draining, being civil to you for so long.”

“I apologize for rejecting your offer of friendship in first year,” Blue said tersely as he stepped back. “Is that acceptable?”

“In this sort of pinch, I suppose,” Malfoy said. “Now, do you swear on your magic to aid the Malfoy family in dealing with the curse cast upon Hogwarts?”

“So long as you swear upon your magic to aid the last remaining Potter in the same capacity _and_ keep the pureblood prejudices to a minimum around his other allies,” Blue replied. “I swear upon my magic. Do you?”

Malfoy nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes, I swear upon my magic.”

Harry felt a thrum of power shoot up his arm when they shook on the deal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you seek out adventure, sometimes you just kind of wind up there without meaning to. Draco certainly didn't ask to go on a dungeon-crawl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, I'm going to stick to weekly updates for as long as I can sustain them, posting chapters concurrently on Ao3 and FFN. This chapter marks the beginning of the first dungeon, which is essentially a dark Zubat cave. The kids need to learn how to play this game somehow, and they don't have health pickups and tutorials to help. This chapter also establishes Wizzrobes as a basic enemy--kind of like Bokoblins in Wind Waker. Since the protagonists are wizards, it makes sense to me that they'd have an easier time fighting magical enemies and a harder time with enemies that use weapons like swords and spears.
> 
> Content warning for a head injury in this chapter.

By Saturday, the student body of Hogwarts had acclimated enough to the changes to step out of their dorms without teacher escorts. They were still going to be shuttled by chaperone for the next week of classes, but they hadn’t been explicitly told to stay inside all weekend. McGonagall had grudgingly allowed her Gryffindors to leave the confines of Gryffindor Tower on the condition that they traveled in threes (or more) and had an upper-year student on hand. Being in the House of Lions had its perks, sometimes.

The monsters had proven to be surprisingly non-deadly, despite their fearsome weaponry. For instance, arrows shot by the pig-man archers would hit with the force of a rubber bullet and leave a wicked puncture wound, but wouldn’t impale. The huge suits of armor that had been popping up all over the second floor would swipe at students with their gigantic broadswords and the students would later wake up in front of the Great Hall without a scratch. Smaller monsters weren’t at all lenient, though. Harry still had nasty bruises on his shins from where he’d been shot by rock-spitters on the way to Herbology and Hermione was miffed about a stinging cut one of the bats had inflicted on her nose. She’d gone to Madam Pomfrey to have it healed, of course, but it was the principle of the matter.

Nearly as troublesome as the monsters were the puzzles. Whatever evil the sword had been holding back, it had a sense of humor that ranged from irritating to dangerous. The most harmless tricks were hidden buttons that one had to press to unlock a door or vanish the new wall that had taken up residence in a corridor. After those were the block-puzzles, which sometimes required students from different Houses to grudgingly cooperate to get through the blockade. Crueler traps included random pitfalls that would drop a student to the next floor down (which, with Hogwarts’s occasionally high ceilings, could be a painful trip), rooms that would generate a gang of monsters and then lock themselves shut until one side lost the battle, and corridors full of giant metal marbles that could only be stopped by pressing a quartet of buttons simultaneously. Those were the kinds of tricks that sent students to the Hospital Wing with broken bones, concussions, and bleeding gashes. Still, no one had died or been grievously injured yet.

“Oh, and there are now robe-wearing toucan-men shooting fireballs and ice boomerangs at anyone who gets too close to the Charms classroom. Flitwick’s been waging a war against them all morning,” Malfoy said as he concluded his report. “Anything interesting on your end?”

“I found out that my sword likes to eat those triangle-gems some of the monsters drop when they disappear,” Harry said. The Harrys had learned this when Red had attempted to test the hardness of the blue jewel he’d collected by whacking it with his sword’s hilt. Rather than shatter and spray shards of crystal in the boy’s eyes, the gem had absorbed into the sword. “We’ve also figured out that shadow-hands make great shortcuts.”

Malfoy scowled. “I’ll say. The bloody things keep sneaking into the Slytherin dorms and snatching us out of our beds. There is a time for shortcuts, and _two o’ clock in the morning_ isn’t it.”

Harry suppressed a grin, imagining a half-awake Malfoy being tossed onto the unforgiving stone floor of the castle’s entryway at some ungodly hour. He didn’t consider himself a vindictive person, but Malfoy had earned it. “The Weasley twins said the hands don’t care for light, which is probably why they like the dungeons so much. They might leave you alone if you keep a nightlight nearby.”

“I’ll consider it,” Malfoy said. Coming from him, that was glowing praise for Weasley ingenuity. “Any idea how to get past those suits of armor with the ridiculous swords? I’ve heard the Hufflepuffs have found a trick and I know you’ve a yellow duffer among your copies.”

“Hufflepuffs are _not_ duffers, and Yellow only talks to them in the halls or in class. He’s still technically a Gryffindor.” Harry shrugged. “We know how to get past the monsters, though. Keep to the weird purple patches scattered around the corridors, and they’ll forget you exist. The patches switch around every day, though, so you can’t memorize the placement.”

“Aha! I knew it!” For a moment, Malfoy wore an actual smile. It quickly transformed into a smirk when he realized his humanity was showing. “Crabbe and Goyle thought the second floor was cursed and refused to step foot on it. That’s how I managed to break away for this secret meeting, truth be told.”

“Why _do_ they follow you around, anyway?”

Malfoy gave him a funny look. “Their families have served my family for generations. Why _wouldn’t_ they follow me around?”

Harry gave him a slow nod, one eyebrow raised. “…Right. I see.” It must have been a magical aristocracy thing. He feared to consider what the Dursleys would have done if that were legal in the Muggle world. They’d have had the Potter family chained the moment he had shown up on their doorstep.

“If that’s all, I have two dimwits to retrieve and more reconnaissance to do,” Malfoy declared. “Remember, don’t tell anyone of our alliance yet. Ciao.” He swept out of the trophy room.

Once the blond was well out of earshot, Red stepped into visibility. “Gotta love having four of these,” he muttered as he stuffed the Invisibility Cloak into his bag. “So that’s what he’s like when he isn’t putting on a show. Charming.”

“With a shark like Lucius Malfoy for a father? We’re lucky he’s human at all,” Harry replied. He paused. Had that been a defense of Malfoy? “Thanks for not cursing him, by the way.”

“Blue told me to keep my head and observe,” Red said through gritted teeth. “I’d be damned if I gave him a new thing to tease me about. Malfoy didn’t seem half bad, anyway. For…you know, Malfoy.”

“Bizarre, isn’t it? We shook hands back on Tuesday, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” Harry and Red left the trophy room. “How are Ron and Hermione doing? I imagine they both had a fit once they realized I’d left.”

“Hermione thought you’d gone to get yourself killed and Ron was miffed ‘cause you’d left him behind,” Red reported. “Last I saw, Yellow and Blue were steering them back toward the dormitory.”

Harry winced. He knew he hadn’t been paying as much attention to his friends, lately. It was difficult, when he had three other selves distracting him. What made things particularly complicated was that being near the other Harrys gave him a sense of inner peace that he’d come to crave, to the point that he sometimes forgot about his original friends. It was a bit frightening, now that he thought about it. The sword was messing with his _head_. Nothing like what Tom Riddle’s diary had done to Ginny, but _still_ …

“You should tell them about this thing you’ve worked out with Malfoy,” Red suggested. “I don’t like lying, you don’t like lying, Yellow absolutely _hates_ lying, and even Blue can feel guilt. Harry Potter wasn’t meant to lie, and his friends don’t deserve to be lied to.”

“Alright, first: I thought Blue or Yellow was the sensible one, not you. And second: are you mad? I can’t tell them about Malfoy! Ron would go off on a rant, thinking I’d been cursed into lunacy, and Hermione would give me that horrible disappointed mum look she does whenever I’ve done something stupid. You know the one.”

Red sighed. “Yeah, I do. It doesn’t feel right, though, sneaking off without saying anything. I mean, if Ron suddenly vanished because…I dunno, his rat ran off to the Forbidden Forest and he decided to chase after it, we’d be pretty worried, wouldn’t we?”

“I’ve only been gone maybe fifteen minutes, at most. I wouldn’t have had time to get all the way to the Forbidden Forest.”

“You’re missing the point, Green.” Red punched him in the shoulder. “Make up a decent excuse next time before you skip off. You don’t have to tell them you’re having an affair with Malfoy, but you’ve got to give them _something_.”

“An _affair_?” Harry all but shrieked. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s _Malfoy_ and we’re only thirteen—” A familiar grunt from up ahead made him snap his mouth shut and press flat against the side of the hall.

“Nice reflexes,” Red commented as he joined Harry against the wall. “Been practicing today?”

“Today and yesterday, I got up early and started exploring before anyone else woke up,” Harry said in a low voice. He watched the spear-wielding pig-man as it appeared from around the corner. “So yeah, a bit.”

“You should have taken me along!” Red’s hand went to the hilt of his sword and he slowly eased it out of its sheath.

“I was practicing stealth, not hacking at things with a sword,” Harry said as he unsheathed his own weapon. “I figured you’d get bored.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet, Greenie.”

With a huge grin on his face, Red ran at the oblivious pig-man. As this was his fourth time making such an approach, he’d learned not to announce his presence with a yell or hold his sword above his head. He dashed forward, keeping his profile low and his weapon at the ready. Harry followed him in a similar fashion, though he carefully stayed to one side of the monster instead of heading straight for it. The spear-wielders liked to run at you with their spear held out like a lance and dealt a nasty stab-wound before trampling you, if you couldn’t dodge fast enough. Harry had learned that the painful way.

The pig-man noticed Red coming at it and readied its spear for a charge, as Harry had predicted. Red was forced to fling himself out of the way to avoid the surprisingly quick monster. Harry was ready for the beast’s attack, though, and swung at its legs with his sword as the creature thundered by him. The pig-man stumbled and Harry took advantage of this to deliver several strikes to its broad, muscled back.

With a loud grunt, the pig-man whipped its spear around, catching Harry in the gut and slamming him into a wall. Sparks exploded in the boy’s eyes when skull met stone and he fell to the ground in a moaning heap.

“You bastard!” Red leapt at the monster and drove his sword into its chest. “Die!”

The monster _did_ die, thankfully. Though it had been created from magic, vital strikes were apparently still effective. A red jewel fell to the ground as the smoke cleared.

“Y’should get that,” Harry slurred dizzily. His glasses had flown off his face when he’d been hit, and all he saw of the worried boy crouched beside him was a blur of black robes and vague facial features.

“It can wait. Are you alright? Do you have one of those brain-bruises? What are they called?”

“Kin…Concussions, and prob’ly,” Harry said. Aunt Petunia had gotten him in the head with a frying pan once and he vaguely remembered it feeling like this. He didn’t think his head had gotten hit as hard this time, though. “Mad’m Prom…Pomfrey can fix it.” He stood up with Red’s assistance. “Need my glasses. Where’d they go?”

“Let me see.” Red propped him against the wall and then scanned the floor. “Aha!” The boy picked up an object too thin for Harry’s unfocused eyes to make out. “Looks like they broke, though.” He tapped the glasses with his wand. “ _Reparo_! There you are.” Red handed them to Harry, who slid them on. “To Madam Pomfrey we go!” After pausing to let his sword absorb the red jewel left behind by the monster, he dragged Harry in the direction of the Hospital wing.

At least, so they thought.

* * *

Hermione had been fretting for some minutes now, but when Blue and Yellow clutched their heads with identical yelps of surprise and pain, her stress levels shot through the roof.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” she asked frantically. Oh, she _knew_ Harry and Red had been getting up to something! This was the third time Harry had disappeared this week, and Red had shown himself to have little patience for the rules.

“It feels like Green or Red just took a bat to the noggin,” Yellow moaned. “This shared-pain thing sucks.”

Hermione and Ron shared a frown. _‘Did he tell you? Because he didn’t tell_ me _,’_ said their silent looks.

“How long have you known about this connection?” Hermione questioned. “Why didn’t you say anything?” As smart as she was, she could guess the answer: either Harry had gotten too caught up in his new friendships to remember, or he hadn’t wanted Ron and Hermione to worry.

“You’d have never let any of us out of our sight if you knew, so we kept our mouths shut,” Blue said.

“It’s not like we’re afraid of adventure. If you want to go out and play tag with the armor monsters, we’re not going to stop you,” Ron told him. “Well, Hermione might, but _I_ wouldn’t. Point is, we’ve done stuff together before, and we can do that now. I followed a trail of _acromantulas_ with you, Harry. Pig-men and rock-spitters and halls full of death-marbles are a walk in the park, after that.”

Blue bit his lower lip and hunched over his book. Yellow shifted from foot to foot, guilt written all over his honest face.

“Harry…” Hermione’s face adopted the expression of disappointment she’d learned from her mother over the years. The Harrys squirmed uncomfortably under her look of gentle disapproval.

“We’ve made a new friend!” Yellow blurted. “You wouldn’t like him, and he barely likes us, but we’re friends and we’ve been having meetings, and—” His ramble cut off when Blue thumped him on the head with a fourth-year Defense textbook.

“Yellow and I are going to look for Green and Red,” Blue announced, standing up. “One of them just suffered a blow to the head, and possibly a concussion as a result. They may have trouble reaching the Hospital Wing.” He grabbed Yellow by the back of his robes and towed the boy behind him as he left the room.

“We’re coming with you!” Ron proclaimed, running after them.

Hermione sighed and trailed behind the others. Professor McGonagall was going to be _so_ unhappy if she found them wandering around without an upperclassman. She made sure to tell Percy they were going out, though, before she went through the portrait hole. It was best to do damage control before they got caught.

* * *

“Er, Draco, I don’t think we’re in Hogwarts anymore.” Goyle fiddled with his tie. The habit irritated Draco to no end, but he’d long ago learned that snapping at the unkempt boy only made his fidgeting worse. “There aren’t any caves in Hogwarts, are there?”

“It’s too dark in here,” Crabbe said anxiously. He tried casting _Lumos_ for the seventh time. As it had during every other attempt, the spell flickered and died as the ambient magic snuffed it out. “There aren’t enough torches. Hogwarts has lots of torches.”

Draco ground his teeth. He’d already snarled at the nitwits to stop their whining _three times_ , and they were still carrying on. Did they seriously think he couldn’t _tell_ the castle had spirited them away to some pitch-black hellhole? He had eyes!

Though he could clearly observe the result of their aimless wandering, he hadn’t the foggiest how they’d gotten to this point. Last he remembered, they had been scouting out the fifth floor of the castle, and then they’d somehow wound up in a dark cave full of purple rats and big green snakes. The curse on the castle must have altered his memory, like a Muggle-repelling charm.

An echoing sound caught his attention. After hearing nothing but dripping water and the squeaks of rats, that was new. He listened for it again.

“Barking,” he murmured upon recognizing the noise. There was a dog down here. How odd.

“Follow, but be ready to protect me should the need arise,” he commanded his servants. “Let’s go.” He laid a hand against the wall to use as a reference point in the low visibility, and then walked toward the source of the barking.

His undignified stumbling through the sparsely-lit cave caused him to trip over and slay many a rat and snake. He’d even managed to slap a shadow-bat out of the air once, when he’d swung out his arm to stay upright. Wryly, Draco mused that he was probably a better fighter by accident than he was on purpose. He was an excellent duelist, but Malfoys were too gently bred for most athletic pursuits.

As the mysterious dog’s booming barks lost some of their echo, Draco noticed a bright spot ahead. Whatever was giving off the glow shone brighter than any of the strange, rectangular fire-bins scattered around. He was only a few meters off when he heard an ominous whoosh and an inhuman laugh.

“Watch out!” Crabbe lifted Draco to safety just before a ball of flame struck where his feet had been.

“Bloody toucan!” Draco cursed. He’d heard about these monsters from one of his Ravenclaw contacts. According to her, the birds would appear with a chiming noise, shoot, laugh, and then disappear—always in that order. “Listen for the chime, and send every nasty spell you can at it!” he commanded. “And put me down, Vincent!”

It took five solid minutes of blindly fired _Reductos_ and _Incendios_ to kill the stupid bird. Every other spell had bounced off and hit the cave even if aimed correctly, drawing a frightened whine from the dog, and the ones that had hit hadn’t done much more than inflict little rips or singe-marks on the bird’s robes.

_‘Next time, I’m bringing a Potter with me. I don’t care if they’re all bloody Gryffindors,’_ Draco mentally growled. He cast enough neatening and cleaning spells to restore himself to an acceptable level of excellence, tried a _Lumos_ that inevitably failed, and then snatched up the blue gem the monster had dropped. “Vincent! Gregory! Sound off!” he barked.

“It set my robes on fire,” Crabbe complained from somewhere in the dark. “Had to take ‘em off. I had clothes on underneath, though.”

“I didn’t get hit,” Goyle said proudly.

Though Draco would never have admitted it, he breathed a small sigh of relief. He hadn’t been able to worry about his servants during his duel with the beast. “Go to that bright spot over there and look for the dog. It sounds positively frantic now.”

“What if the dog bites?” Goyle asked.

Draco paused. That thought hadn’t occurred to him, as inexperienced as he was with such mundane pets. “We’re wizards, aren’t we? I’m sure a fire spell would scare it off, in that case.”

He crept toward the most brightly lit area of the cave with his wand held at the ready. Now that he had time to study his surroundings, he saw that a red lamp on a pedestal appeared to be the source of light. Its insides shimmered with free-floating flames, not the usual lit wick, and it had an air of magic about it. Something about the way its inner fire danced with near-recognizable shapes didn’t seem quite natural to Draco.

His musings were cut off by a whine to his left. The boy looked, and saw nothing. “An invisible dog?” he muttered in confusion. Squinting hard into the shadows, he could just barely make out the shaggy form of something approximately the size of a pony. “Merlin’s beard, you’re _big_ ,” he gasped, taking a step backward. The black dog whined piteously at his small retreat.

“Wait a moment, will you?” he told it. The boy went to the pedestal holding the lantern and examined the magical artifact it held. So far, the cave had resisted every magical attempt to illuminate it, which meant this was likely a puzzle similar to the ones plaguing Hogwarts. The lantern was no doubt the puzzle’s solution.

Draco picked up the lantern and was stunned when another immediately took its place. Definitely the right answer, then. “Crabbe, Goyle, get one lantern each and meet me over here,” he called. “I’ve found the dog.” His servants, who had been searching nearby, were quick to follow his orders.

The three boys made their way to where Draco had found the dog. When their lamps’ yellow light illuminated the great beast, Draco sucked in a breath through his teeth.

The dog was eerily reminiscent of a Grim, but so starved and pitiful-looking that it couldn’t have been mistaken for anything but an unfortunate mutt. He wore a gold collar studded with four large jewels in the House colors. The solid ring of metal fit his neck loosely, as though it had been affixed when he’d been less thin—which made sense, Draco supposed. A chain was hooked to a loop on the back of the collar and staked to the ground three meters away. The dog looked over his shoulder at the chain and then back at Draco with pleading in his soft grey eyes.

“If you bite me, I’ll set you on fire,” Draco warned as he edged around the creature. He would have let one of his servants do this, but he wanted the dog to be thankful to _him_ , not them. A Malfoy was certainly more deserving of gratitude than a member of one of those lesser families.

Setting down his lantern, Draco took up the first link of the chain. The cruel leash unlatched easily from the collar. Draco dropped the chain, reclaimed his lamp, and stepped away from the dog warily. Crabbe and Goyle put themselves between him and the freed beast without needing to be ordered to. Protecting Draco was what they had been doing for most of their lives and this was familiar territory.

Luckily, the larger boys’ assistance wasn’t necessary. The dog only cocked his head to one side, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Though he didn’t know much about dogs, Draco understood the expression to be an inoffensive one.

“Stand down. I don’t think he’s a threat,” Draco said, stepping forward.

Crabbe gave him a worried frown. “The hippogriff seemed alright too, though, and then it hurt you.”

Draco blushed. Though he’d certainly milked it for all it was worth in hopes of getting that oafish half-breed fired (too bad that would probably never happen now), he couldn’t deny he’d made a mistake. How was he supposed to have known the half-giant’s advice had been sound? The great idiot could barely string a sentence together when he was sober, and he spent half the day drinking. Still, Draco could privately admit that insulting the hippogriff while standing right in front of it had been an unwise decision.

“This is a different animal and a different situation,” he said tersely to Crabbe. “For all we know, the entire point of this puzzle was to find the lantern and get the dog to lead us out. Anything is possible, with Hogwarts having gone mad.” Pushing past Crabbe and Goyle, he approached the dog. “You _can_ help us, can’t you?” Draco asked him. “We need a way out, and all we’ve found so far is a toucan, some magic fire-lamps, and you. I’m assuming you’re a part of this awful puzzle, like everything else.”

The dog nodded, looking thoughtful.

Goyle fingered his wand uneasily. “Er, Draco, dogs aren’t supposed to understand—”

“Hush, Gregory. I’m trying to get us out of here,” Draco snapped. “Now, Dog, will you use that nose of yours to find us a way out? Or at least lead us to a Potter? I’m sure one of those idiots is down here; Potter has a talent for poking sleeping dragons in the eye.”

The dog perked up noticeably at the name “Potter” and gave a short bark.

“So you’ve heard of him? Your owners must be wizards, then,” Draco remarked.

With his tail wagging, the dog turned in a circle and then pointed with his nose toward a stone door carved into the cave wall. It was only just visible, square basins of pale stone standing on either side of it like sentinels.

Draco looked from the fiery lamp he held to the stone containers. The ones he’d seen so far had been lit like torches, and this strange lantern was swimming with flames. “Aha, I see. You’ve been helpful, Dog. I think I might keep you.” Draco strode over to the door with renewed confidence in his step.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dungeon is trawled and a discovery would have been made if not for the author's burning need to give Draco a Dogfather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dungeon art is now posted and I'll be putting up art of the boss sometime before I add Chapter 7.
> 
> Content warning: in this chapter, the Dursleys and their effects on Harry are mentioned. It'll be happening on and off as the story moves forward, though there won't be explicit depictions of child abuse and this definitely isn't going to turn into an angst-fic.

“Ooh, we’re _really_ lost, aren’t we?” Yellow fretted. “We were halfway up the castle. How did we get _under_ it? I don’t even remember.”

“The curse is messing with our heads,” Ron said grimly. “It _pulled_ us down here, like a backwards notice-me-not spell.”

While both Harrys seemed puzzled and unnerved by the idea, Hermione nodded in comprehension. “So this is another trick played by the curse on the castle,” she said. Her eyes roved across the small cavern they stood in, observing its rough-hewn floor and boxy walls. All four walls had one doorway each, including the one they’d just stepped through. Three doorways were open, lit by the odd fire-bins that had replaced Hogwarts’s familiar torches. The one closed door, whose outline could only just be seen in the back wall, had an unlit receptacle on either side of it.

Hermione pointed her wand at one of the empty stone bins. “Hold on, I want to try something,” she said to give the group warning. “ _Incendio_!” A jet of flame shot toward the receptacle. However, when the spell ended, the fire hadn’t caught. “Just like _Lumos_ , huh,” she mused.

“Care to share with the class, Hermione?” Blue drawled.

The girl considered him as she had the room. Despite his calm voice, the boy clutched his wand tightly and his eyes were wide and scared. “This entire cave is just another puzzle, and one thing I’ve learned about these kinds of things is that they don’t encourage creative answers. There’s one, very specific solution to all of this,” she said. “We need to light those bins to get that door open, but the puzzle won’t let us come up with our own method for that. Therefore, we need to find how the _puzzle_ intends for us to get those lit.” She pointed to the open doorways to their right and left. “We need to check both of those areas. One or both of them will have something useful if I’m right.”

Ron grinned. “You usually are.”

“Does that mean we’re splitting up? I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” Yellow said. “What if we get locked in one of those rooms full of monsters? We don’t know where they’d take us if they knocked us out, or even if they’d stop at _only_ knocking us out. This place feels different from Hogwarts.” The boy looked even more wound up than Blue, like a puppy anticipating a kick.

Blue wrapped an arm over his twin’s shoulders. “We’re moving as one group,” he said decisively. “Let’s search the left room first.”

The quartet went through the doorway on the left and began investigating the rectangular room beyond. It was dimly lit by a fire-bin in each corner, allowing them to see the multitude of round pots contained within. Three groups of twelve pots, each in a row of six, filled the room. Each pot was about the size of a large vase, made out of dully shining brown clay.

Hermione picked up one of the pots and turned it upside-down. Nothing fell out. “Why would pots be part of the puzzle?” she wondered aloud. These pieces of pottery looked more suited to a suburban garden than a dark cave.

“Ow!”

Everyone’s heads snapped up at Ron’s yelp.

“That torch-thing _shot_ me!” the boy cried, pointing at the fire-bin nearest him.

At that moment, something not unlike a flaming cricket ball hit Hermione’s back with the force of a hard punch. She stumbled, her hands instinctively going to the spot of burning pain. Her robes were scorched, but not on fire.

“We need to get out of here!” she shouted. Her voice cracked with the urge to cry. The girl gritted her teeth and forced down the childish impulse, wiping away her tears of pain with her sleeve. “The torches are some kind of defense system!”

“Smash pots and dodge the fire!” Blue barked. He had his sword out and a manic glint in his eye. “There’s something in here. They wouldn’t be shooting at us if there weren’t an answer to find.” He swung his sword viciously and clove through three pots. They shattered with unnatural force, the pieces vanishing as soon as they hit the ground.

“Blue, we don’t know what—eep!” Yellow ducked a fireball. “We don’t know what we’re looking for!” he pointed out.

“Then just smash everything and collect whatever falls out!” Blue staggered as a fireball hit his shoulder. The boy shook off the attack with a snarl and continued mauling the pots.

Hermione and Ron began picking up pots and throwing them as the Harrys used their swords to their advantage. Fueled by anger, pain, and the stubborn determination all Potters shared, Blue went on a pot-killing rampage. He slew two-thirds of the three dozen pots, his teeth bared and his hair even wilder than usual. Even so, it was Ron who found what they were searching for.

“You think this is it?” he asked, holding up an oversized, tarnished silver key.

The lack of fireballs flying through the room was their answer.

“ _Finally_.” Blue wavered on his feet and sagged against a wall. “I need to do more exercise than Quidditch,” he moaned. “My body can’t keep up with my temper.”

“I didn’t even know you still had anger problems, with the way you talked to Snape,” Yellow said. “I thought you’d gone all cool-headed and Slytherin-ish.”

Blue gave him a flat stare. “I’m _Harry Potter_.”

Yellow nodded, clearly understanding something that Ron and Hermione didn’t. “Oh, right. Living with our family really teaches you to keep an even keel in certain company, doesn’t it?”

Blue grimaced. “It certainly does.” He pushed himself away from the wall and brushed off his scorched robes. The boy had caught at least four fireballs, from the amount of smoking cloth on his back and shoulders. “To the other room we go. Hopefully, it won’t have any shooting torches.” With his free hand, he flipped off one of the fire-bins.

“Blue, don’t be rude!” Hermione scolded.

“It tried to set me on _fire_ , Hermione. It was rude first.” Blue stuck his tongue out at the torch and then led the way out of the room.

* * *

Shwanggg-chkch!

A massive, four-sided blade shot by—close enough to put a rip in Red’s robes—and crashed into the stone wall with a rattle.

Red staggered back with a stream of curses and landed on his rear, his lamp clattering to the ground.

“I’ll thank you to stop swearing,” Harry said as loudly as he dared. He rubbed his pounding temples. “That isn’t the first time one of those knife-squares has tried to kill you, anyway. One would think the surprise would wear off.”

“It’s really big and really fast, Green! And I like not having my legs chopped off!” Red defended. He snatched up his lantern and climbed to his feet. “How the hell are we supposed to get out of here, with those things in front of every door? I’ve gone at them three times, now, and they’re still way too fast to dodge. I’ve done the dumb plan and it didn’t work, so what’s the smart plan?”

“We get past them the same way we got in, obviously,” Harry said. His head hurt, his vision was swimming, and walking in a straight line was getting progressively more difficult. The resulting stress from this was making him echo Blue’s jaded tones. “Look, there’s a delay with these traps, isn’t there? They swing out, try to kill you, and then slowly reel back in. If we run past while they’re pulling themselves in for another shot, they won’t hit us.”

“Ohhh.” Red put his hand under his chin. “Er, you’re way slower than me right now, though. And I can’t even avoid these things all that well. I’m not sure this is the smart plan.”

Harry sighed. “I’m concussed—so sue me,” he said with a shrug. “If you want to starve to death in here, fine. I have a Hospital Wing to get to.” He climbed to his feet with the care of a staggering drunk, using his lamp as leverage.

Red watched him worriedly before ducking under his arm. “You know it’s a bad idea when your inner Gryffindor is iffy about it,” he groused. “Still, I’d rather you did it with me than without. You can’t walk five steps without falling over.”

“Your loyalty is ‘preciated,” Harry said with a sloppy salute. “Shall we?”

“I guess so.” Red cautiously crept toward the blade that had just attacked him. When the boys were about twenty centimeters from its path of attack, it shot at them with startling speed. They froze in place, their hearts suddenly hammering, just out of harm’s way. When the trap hit the wall, they scurried through the doorway before it could retract.

“I bet we’re going to have to go back there for another key, or something,” Harry commented once he could think over the sound of his slowing pulse. “I saw a doorway in there, and not the one we came in from.”

“If we find another locked door, I’ll go get that stupid key myself and you can stay put,” Red growled. He helped Harry sit down and leaned him against the wall. “Now, what next?” He blinked, noticing that the room was completely unlit but for the illumination provided by his and Harry’s lanterns. “Er, is it really dark in here, or is it just me?”

Harry had the same realization as he looked around. His slightly fuzzy vision reported an empty fire-bin a few meters off, near where he approximated the center of the room to be. Given that all the fire-bins he’d seen so far had been stationed next to doors or in the corners of different rooms, that didn’t bode well. “I’m pretty sure we went from one trapped room to another,” he sighed. “Red, get your sword out.”

Red complied and held the weapon in one hand, the other occupied by his lamp. “What do you think it is? Shadow-bats? Electric slime monsters?”

“This place is more dangerous than the castle. Whatever’s in here is probably—” Harry was cut off by the sound of metal grating against stone. The boys jumped at the awful noise and glanced back at the opening they’d come in through. A stone door and an array of spikes had risen up to block it.

The boys’ shocked silence was broken by a five-note chiming sound. Red caught sight of something large and colorful before a trio of fireballs shot at him. He swore and threw himself sideways. One of the balls of flame still managed to clip him, searing his ear. Right as he landed, he heard another laugh and saw something glint yellow in the darkness. Immediately after that, the sound of many small, flapping wings could be heard.

“Toucans!” Harry cried. “At least two of them! Watch out for—” The boy was forced to scramble to one side as a boomerang-shaped blue spell hit where he’d been sitting. Ice grew explosively from the site of impact.

“Oh, come _on_!” Red railed as he dodged another set of fireballs. He was then set upon by a swarm of shadow-bats that had appeared from seemingly nowhere. The boy swung his sword wildly, slicing through several. “The stuff in the castle’s just fun and games, compared to—” He heard a chiming sound, a whoosh, and an inhuman giggle, and was then knocked over by a wave of intense cold slamming into his back. “QUIT LAUGHING, YOU BLOODY BIRDS!” he roared.

Harry stumbled away from another ice-boomerang. “Yeah, that’ll show ‘em!” he called across the room.

“RRAUGH!” Red whirled around and chopped at the toucan who’d appeared behind him. The robed bird jerked back with a cry of pain and then used its magic to vanish. “How are we supposed to fight these monsters when we can’t even see?” he bemoaned. “They aren’t always going to appear right next to us.” The boy had dropped his lantern when the shadow-bats had swooped at him. He was lucky the toucans’ attacks were so bright, otherwise he’d have been unable to dodge.

“Wait a minute…We aren’t supposed to fight them! They’re a distraction.” Harry wobbled over to the unlit fire-bins he’d noticed earlier and tipped his lantern over one of them. A drop of fire spilled out and into the receptacle, causing it to burst into flame. “It’s just another puzzle!”

“Well, solve it!” Red shouted. He blindly snatched a shadow-bat out of the air and chucked it at where he guessed a toucan to be. The sound they created upon appearing and their high-pitched laughter made them easy to find, even if their habit of teleporting made them almost impossible to hit with a close-range weapon.

Harry hopped over a set of fireballs and finished lighting the torches. The moment they were all aflame, the room burst into full illumination and the monsters within vanished. With a screech of protest, the spikes blocking the exits sank into the ground.

“Bloody hell,” Red panted. He lay flat on his back and gulped down air. “We _really_ weren’t built for combat.”

“If we ever were, I’m sure the Dursleys starved that potential out of us,” Harry said dryly. He noticed a red and gold treasure chest sitting in the center of the four torches he’d lit. If that had been there before, he definitely would have tripped over it. “Er, I think solving the puzzle earned us a present,” he said. “Although I’ve never seen a treasure chest in real life before. _Weird_.” As Red got to his feet and walked over, Harry pulled the lid of the chest up. “Let’s see…We got a map?” He reached in and pulled out the rolled-up sheet of parchment. Though yellowed by advanced age, the ancient calfskin opened without any problem.

“I bet it’s connected to that compass we found earlier,” Red remarked. He fished the aforementioned object out of his pocket and held it up to the map. Immediately, the inked drawing gained detail. The rooms, represented in red and blue outlines that probably denoted where they had and hadn’t been, became less simplistic in shape as their true dimensions were revealed. Small red rectangles popped up in a few of the rooms, and in the center of the map, within the only round chamber, appeared a skull symbol.

“Green, look!” Red pointed to a spot near the upper left corner of the map. Four lines of footsteps could be seen, each marked by a name. Two were labeled “Harry J. Potter”, one was “Hermione J. Granger”, and the fourth was “Ronald B. Weasley”.

“They got pulled in, too?” Harry gasped.

“Not just them. See down here?” Red tapped a point to the left of the skull symbol. Four more names floated over tiny footsteps. “Vincent Crabbe”, “Gregory Goyle”, “Draco A. Malfoy”, and…

Harry hissed through his teeth. “ _Sirius Black_ is down here?!”

* * *

“Why do these dratted keys keep breaking?” Draco asked irritably as the third silver key snapped in his hand. The door he’d just unlocked sprang open, and he glared at the doorway before stepping through.

Dog caught him by the back of his robes and tugged him out of the room. When Draco raised an eyebrow at him, the dog looked pointedly at something Draco couldn’t see and growled softly.

“More enemies,” he reported to his servants. “And here I was hoping this room would be nice and quiet.” He pushed Crabbe and Goyle in front of him, then walked in after.

As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered making the other boys go first. Spikes and stone shot out of nowhere to block the door behind them and every torch in the room spontaneously lit. In the center of the room, towering at over two meters tall, stood a shadowy figure clad in yellow armor. The monster held a spiked iron ball the size of a large watermelon in one hand, the weapon’s thick chain clutched in the other. While Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle stood frozen in fear, the ghostly knight tossed the ball in the air and began swinging it over its head. With a radius of at least four meters, there wasn’t much space to flee from the deadly flail.

Draco backed toward the spikes blocking the exit. His wand was held out in front of him, supported by a madly shaking hand, but he couldn’t recall any spells. As scared as he was, Draco felt a surge of frustration. He was going to _die_ , and he couldn’t remember any bloody spells!

A sharp bark startled his shocked mind into motion. Dog nudged him in the side with his nose and then planted his large, skeletal frame between Draco’s group and the monster.

_‘He’s protecting us? But what can a dog do against an armored ghost like that? He’ll die!’_ Draco’s panic-clouded mind managed to churn out. He shook his head and pulled his right arm out of its sling to support his trembling left hand. His father had advised against getting his wound magically healed (“to better sell the story”, he’d said), and it ached dully under its bandaging. Still, it didn’t hurt enough to hinder his aim.

“ _Ex_ —” Draco’s voice cracked as the ghostly knight’s flail came swinging at them again. “ _Expelliarmus_! _Locomotor mortis_!” he cried.

One of the spells worked. The ball-and-chain leapt from the monster’s grip and flew toward Draco, who ducked with a shriek of terror. It crashed into the wall with a great clang, the ball embedding itself in the stone.

“What? I…I got it?” Draco stammered. He looked from the knight, which was staring at its empty hands in confusion, to the weapon stuck in the wall near the door. “I got it!” he proclaimed. “Attack!” Grinning viciously, the boy shot off a spell he’d learned from his father. The monster took a step back when the orange curse attempted to rip its leg off.

The three boys battered the weaponless knight mercilessly. Even once it seemed to realize it needed to retrieve its weapon, the students didn’t let the thing take a single step toward it. Two years of Hogwarts schooling and five years of home tutoring had taught the boys enough basic offensive spells to drive the monster back against the wall. It was Dog who ended the fight by gripping the monster’s dented, scorched helmet between his jaws and decapitating the creature.

A deep, resonating bellow of pain echoed through the room, and then the monster disappeared. In its wake floated a triangular blue crystal thrice the size of any Draco had seen so far. A treasure chest faded into existence in the center of the room, larger and fancier than the ones that had contained silver keys.

“Goyle, fetch the crystal. Potter will know what to do with it,” Draco ordered almost absently as he gravitated toward the treasure chest. What was in it? Why was it bigger than the others? Was it possibly a way out?

The boy’s anticipation soured once he opened the chest. “ _Another_ key. Wonderful.” He pulled out the large, ornamental-looking object. It was about as long as his forearm, topped by a ghoulish eye and sharp, curving horns. “Big treasure chest, big key. Of course.” He stuffed the key in his bag. After a moment’s consideration, he took off his shoulder sling and put it away as well. He’d definitely be going to the Hospital Wing to heal that scratch after this; there was no point in “selling the story” now, with Hogwarts cut off from anyone who could oust Hagrid and his pet monsters.

Dog barked and pranced around Draco. His grey eyes were alight with a doggish sort of joy.

“What is it? Have you found Potter?” Draco asked. Dog barked in reply and towed him toward one of the recently-unblocked opening to their right. “Come along! Dog’s found something!” he shouted over his shoulder to his servants.

Echoed voices began to reach Draco’s ears. He pulled his sleeve from Dog’s mouth and hurried down the narrow corridor he’d been led into. He was even more curious than Dog to see who else had gotten stuck in this miserable cave.

He reached the doorway at the end of the corridor and came to a halt. Two of the Potters, the Weasel, and the Mud—the muggleborn stood on the other side, holding up lanterns identical to his. They appeared no less stunned than he, though Draco was the quickest to conceal his surprise.

“Potters and friends. How nice,” he said with a sneer. His eyes flicked to the bespectacled boys in the group. The blue-eyed one subtly shook his head. So they hadn’t blabbed to the rest of the Golden Trio about their alliance, yet. What a pleasant surprise.

Crabbe and Goyle ran up and took their customary positions behind Draco. It had taken them long enough. “So, what brings the lot of you down here?” he asked. “Come to play savior?”

“We got lost, like you did,” the yellow Potter piped. How did he manage to sound so childish when he was only a few months younger than Draco? “We’ve been going around fighting monsters and stuff.” The boy jumped when Dog moved forward to sniff him curiously. “Whoa, you’re big! Biiig doggy.” He petted Dog’s shaggy head with a smile on his face.

Draco pursed his lips. Dog was _his_ dog. It wasn’t fair that the Potter got to pet him, too.

Weasley’s voice interrupted his small fit of pique. “Lost the sling have you? I _knew_ you were faking.” The boy grinned in a self-satisfied way that made Draco want to curse him. “I bet Dumbledore will cancel Buckbeak’s execution once he finds out.”

Draco snorted at the name. “Buckbeak”? What a stupid thing to call something that could easily have eviscerated him. “Maybe the beast won’t die, but at least I’ve made class safer for everyone who isn’t one of the giant’s favorites,” he sniffed. “You _do_ know that thing could have ripped me to shreds, don’t you? Having _thirteen-year-olds_ play with creatures who might kill you if you don’t bow deeply enough is a terrible idea. Flobberworms may be boring, but at least they don’t have beaks, hooves, and talons.”

“Hagrid _said_ not to insult them! It’s your own stupid fault you got cut!” Weasley snapped.

“Most magical creatures are dangerous. The whole point of Hagrid’s class is to learn how to deal with them,” the muggleborn said in that maddening, know-it-all way of hers. “We aren’t learning anything from Flobberworms.”

Blue interrupted the conversation. “Not that your debate isn’t interesting, but could you get this mutt off of me?” He shoved at Dog, who had almost knocked him off his feet in his eagerness to sniff the boy.

“Come here, Dog,” Draco commanded. “Potter can’t be _that_ interesting.”

Dog looked over his shoulder with wide, innocent eyes. Ah, so that was where the term “puppy eyes” came from.

Draco stood firm. “You can sniff him later. There are four of him, so it isn’t as though we’ll never run into one again.”

The dog cocked his head to one side.

“Absurd, isn’t it? Apparently, he picked up a sword and it split him four ways, in addition to letting all this nonsense happen.” Draco waved vaguely to the underground tunnel they stood in.

Dog made a sound of canine consideration and walked back to Draco. He sat down with his head inclined, seemingly deep in thought.

“Er, what kind of Crup is that?” Weasley asked. His eyebrows had crept toward his flaming hairline. “They don’t get that big.”

“What’s a Crup?” the yellow Potter inquired.

“A magical dog. Like a mundane one, but smarter,” Weasley explained. “They’re never that big, though. What is that thing? It’s the size of a Grim!”

“This is Dog, and he’s mine,” Draco said coolly. He didn’t appreciate the Weasel insulting his pet, especially when the only pet that blood-traitor could boast was a fat, useless old rat. “He’s been helping us find our way through this cave. I’d like to see that nasty vermin you keep do that!”

The tips of Weasley’s ears turned red. “Better to have a pet rat than be rat-faced!”

Draco’s cheeks flushed as well. He worked hard to keep himself as immaculate and glamorous as a Malfoy should be! How _dare_ this grubby, muggle-loving pauper insult his pureblood features! “You dirty _Weasel_! My father will—!”

A loud shout came from behind Draco. “Oi! Any of you see Sirius Black around here?”

“Harry?” Weasley and the muggleborn gasped.

Draco spun around and directed his servants to do the same. Slowly making their way up the corridor were Potter and his red copy. Potter leaned heavily against his crimson-eyed counterpart. His legs appeared to be having trouble supporting his weight.

“Did he say ‘Sirius Black’?” Goyle muttered to Crabbe over Draco’s head.

“Pretty sure he did,” Crabbe grunted. Raising his voice, he called, “What was that about Sirius Black?”

“I asked if you’d seen him!” the red Potter shouted back. He waved a piece of parchment in the air. “We found this map, and it says he’s with you. Any of you noticed a crazy, skinny, black-haired bloke skulking around?”

“Nah, but we found this wicked-smart dog,” Goyle said.

“We found Dog chained to a peg nailed into the ground,” Draco said, sending the boy a glare. “Don’t you think he’d have escaped if he were an Animagus?”

“He could be stuck,” Crabbe suggested. “Maybe the fancy collar’s cursed.”

“You can’t just make an Animagus ‘stick’, Crabbe. You’d have to dam up their magic for that, and a temporary Squib can’t maintain an animal form.” He rolled his eyes. “ _Honestly_. Our tutors taught us this ages ago. And besides, if Black were an Animagus, that fact would have been in the papers. Every Animagus has to register with the Ministry.”

“Maybe the doggy’s name is Sirius Black just because!” Though his voice was the same as the other Potters’, only the yellow one could manage to sound five years younger than he was.

“It _does_ kind of translate to ‘Black Dog’,” the muggleborn mused. “Someone could have gotten a little artsy when they named him.”

“I’d rather call him ‘Dog’,” Draco sniffed. A basic, utilitarian name suited the animal just fine. It wasn’t as though he were an owl. Those were smart enough to peck you if you gave them a stupid name. Besides, he didn’t want to call Dog anything the Mudblood considered “artsy”.

Potter and his living crutch finally reached the end of the corridor. “In that case, never mind. Crisis averted,” Potter said with a shrug. “Have any of you seen a special key, then? All the normal ones are silver and simple. What we’re looking for is a lot bigger, probably red or rust-colored.”

“We passed this big door on the way over,” the red Potter explained. “It was made of bronze, with a huge eye in the middle. Really cool-looking, to be honest. On the map, there’s this skull symbol behind it.”

Draco laid an arm over his bag. “What do you think this skull represents?” he asked, frowning.

“The biggest, baddest monster in this place,” both Potters chimed. The green-eyed one went on to say, “We figure it’s sitting in front of the exit, like Fluffy over the trap door.”

Potter’s friends and copies made sounds of acknowledgment, though the reference sailed over Draco’s head. “All we need to do is find this key, beat the monster, and escape, then!” Weasley said excitedly. “No more tricks or traps or getting shot at by torches, just slaying the monster!”

Privately, Draco was relieved to be done with this place and its life-threatening tricks. He wasn’t about to show that in front of the Weasel and his buck-toothed pet, however. “We’ll be going right back to the Hogwarts puzzle-box after we escape, so I don’t know what you’re so happy about,” he said, oozing condescension in the way only a Malfoy could. He pulled out the key he’d won from the ghostly knight and grinned at the look of surprise that appeared on every Gryffindor face around him. “You have a map, don’t you? Lead the way, Potters.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children learn from a Keese what it is like to be small and easy to swat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're rounding out the last leg of the Dark Cave dungeon with a fight against an appropriately-themed boss, Drakkus! I've posted a couple of illustrations of him to garden-eel-draws. I think I'll have to do digital paintings for all of my pictures of boss-monsters because crunching them into Gameboy-style pixel designs breaks my brain.

"—being awfully chummy, aren't they?" Harry faintly heard Ron mutter to Hermione. He bit his lower lip and fought the temptation to glance back. He knew he and Malfoy hadn't acted half as antagonistic as they'd been a week ago. After a few days of civil conversation with the young aristocrat, Harry had come to understand that he was nasty by upbringing, not at heart. There were moments when the spoiled prick stepped aside and someone almost decent peered out. He still thought Malfoy was an arrogant prat with bullying tendencies, but he was no longer on the same tier of bratty awfulness as Dudley. Maybe a peg or two below him.

"Malfoy's got the key," Blue said to Ron in an undertone. "He'll be sure to take back his offer and then dangle it in front of us like a deal with the Devil if we give him half a chance. Better to be nice to the little dragon than stuck here forever."

Harry's spirits lifted a bit when Ron swallowed this explanation. Thank Merlin for his buried Slytherin talents!

His hand brushed against something cold and wet. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin before realizing he'd touched the nose of Draco's dog. "Oh! Er, hello, Dog," he greeted uncertainly. The only prior experience he'd had with dogs was when Aunt Marge had brought Ripper over on her visits. Forever burned into young Harry's mind was the image of that ferocious animal's bared teeth. This dog, though wore a loose, slobbery grin and butted his head against Harry's hand in hopes of pets. Harry smiled and obliged him. For someone Malfoy had found chained up and starving in a dungeon, he was a friendly fellow.

' _Rather unfortunate name he's got, though,'_ Harry mused. _'I'd hate to be named after a mass-murderer. Maybe "Dog" isn't exactly creative, but it's better than "Sirius Black".'_

With the map to guide them, they quickly reached the imposing door Harry and Red had come across. Three meters tall and nearly as wide, the solid slab of bronze shone under the yellow light of their lanterns. The metal eye that dominated the middle of the door seemed almost alive as it gleamed above their heads.

"Key, if you please, Malfoy," Red said cheerily, holding his hand out to the uneasy-looking blond.

Malfoy seemed unable to pull his gaze away from the giant eye. He dug in his schoolbag and tossed the key in Red's direction without a single glance at him. "Get us out of here, Potter," he said in a quiet, strained voice.

Red caught the key without comment, appearing unnerved by Malfoy's lack of attitude. He reached up and fitted it into the oversized keyhole that formed the pupil of the door's eye. Several clicks were heard after it turned, and then the eye spun around and split down the middle. Harry felt a chill wash over him as the door slid aside. Whatever was in there, it was powerful and reeked of the same evil as the dark smoke he'd found in the Chamber of Secrets.

They entered the room beyond, which was so dark it seemed to swallow the light of their lamps. As soon as the last person cleared the door, it slammed shut behind him.

"Hello again, kiddo."

Harry's eyes went wide at the voice. That had sounded exactly like him, but neither he nor his clones had spoken.

Orbs of grayish yellow appeared in the darkness, bobbing as their owner walked toward them. When the wavering hem of a set of smoky robes could be seen at the edge of the halo of lamplight that surrounded the group, the figure halted his approach. "I see you've brought friends," Harry's shadow remarked. His teeth glinted as he grinned. "Interesting idea." He reached out, one grey hand emerging from the shadows. When he snapped his fingers, the sound went off like a gunshot in the silent room. "Let's see if you're worth the boss's time. Good luck, Hero," Shadow Harry said with a chuckle. There was a bubbling sound and a gust of unnatural wind, and then he was gone.

_Tic-tic-tic-tic._

The back of Harry's neck prickled at the sound of something tapping above their heads.

_Tic-tic-tic._

Footsteps. That's what those were. Like the clicking sound of a dog's nails on tile. Or razor-sharp talons on rough-hewn stone.

 _Tic-tic._ A quartet of huge, bulbous orange eyes appeared overhead. "SCREEE!"

The pain in Harry's head, which had quietened to a dull roar, flared into pounding agony at the monster's organ-rattling shriek. He clamped his teeth shut and swallowed hard against the nausea that roiled in his gut.

Ron's voice filled his ears. "Harry, come on! You have to _move_!" A hand gripped Harry's wrist and yanked. Harry staggered in the direction he'd been pulled, but was still clipped by the monster's attack. The glancing blow knocked him sideways and Harry fell. At least, he thought he'd fallen down; the world tilted crazily around him and gravity couldn't seem to decide on a direction.

"Watch out for its wings!" he heard someone shout. "It attacks with its—" There was a whoosh, a thud, and a groan.

Harry gripped the nearest ledge he could find and hauled himself into a sitting position. Ohhh, his aching head. He blinked blearily, only half-aware of the chaos around him. People were running—he could see their lanterns bouncing as they sprinted—and something was making angry, shrill squawking noises.

Lolling his head to the right, Harry distantly observed that he was leaning against an unlit fire-bin. A sense of detached curiosity niggled at him. Hadn't they been lighting these things throughout the cave? A dark fire-bin was probably part of a puzzle, he'd learned, but what puzzle was this one a part of?

The giant creature that had been attacking his fellow students crawled over him then, intent on flinging Dog into a wall. Harry stared up at its large, shadowed figure as it passed overhead. Those eyes were awfully big, weren't they? Probably sensitive, too. Was that why it was so hard to see in here? It was almost as if the room was specifically designed to be dark for the monster's comfort…

Harry sat up, snapping out of his stupor. This thing kept _shrieking_ , had wings, and liked the dark! It was a _bat_!

Struggling to his feet, Harry grabbed his lantern and tipped it over the fire-bin he'd been using for support. It instantly burst into flame. "Light the torches!" he bellowed. The volume made his head spin, but he desperately clung to what clarity he'd managed to scrounge up. "It's a giant bat monster! Light will blind it!" Not long after he said this, another fire-bin flared to life some meters away. Ron's face glowed in its orange-tinted light.

Malfoy went flying past Harry, propelled by one of the beast's attacks. He landed in a roll and staggered back to his feet. "Bloody flying rodent!" the boy spat, running off. A third torch soon lit up.

"That's the spirit, Malfoy!" The fourth fire-bin was set aflame, this time by a grinning Red.

With the room now fully lit, the monster screeched in pain and fell to the ground with a mighty thud. Harry pulled his sword from its sheath and barreled at it. His run slowed as he took in the sheer _size_ of the thing. Ten meters from wingtip to wingtip, the creature resembled a cross between a shadow-bat and a dragon. Its fur was shaggy and patchy, bursting from its pebbly skin in black tufts. Between spots of fur and skin, it was armored in dark scales that shone like an iridescent oil slick. When Harry neared its head, his confidence wavered at the sight of its saber-like fangs and the wicked talons at the main joint of each wing. If that thing recovered its senses while he was anywhere near it, he was _dead_.

' _Don't look at its teeth or claws. Focus on the eyes; those are what's important,'_ Harry thought, setting his jaw. He couldn't kill this thing if he was too busy cowering from it.

Harry hacked madly at a pair of glowing orange eyes. The monster twitched and roared in pain, but when it didn't make any move to strike back, he kept swinging away. Only dimly did he notice the other Harrys doing the same.

After a few seconds, the monster stood back up and shook itself. A shower of what felt like rocks pelted Harry. He snatched one out of the air and was dumbstruck to find that it was a glittering red triangle. Why did the monsters keep dropping these things?

"Pick them up!" Blue barked at Harry as he ran by with Dog at his heels. "If it's giving us this stuff, it's important!"

Harry bobbed his head in confused agreement and then scrabbled around to absorb as many gems as possible into his weapon. He'd never collected so many of them at once before, and became aware of a subtle buzz of energy running through his sword once he'd picked up all the jewels nearby. Was that the crystals at work?

He didn't get any time to contemplate this, since the bat-monster had recovered and was now hopping mad. It _screamed_ , causing Harry to sink dizzily to his knees. With a mighty flap of its wings, it extinguished the four torches and plunged the room back into darkness.

"Well, at least we know how to beat it now," Hermione said from the other side of the room. "Maybe—"

With an enraged shriek, the bat burst into flames. A wave of heat hit them all like a slap to the face.

Malfoy's crackling glare cut through the gloom. "Oh, _wonderful_ jinx there, Granger!"

"I-I didn't think it would—EEK!" She squealed and ducked a fiery wing. Once it had swept overhead, she ran with impressive speed for someone who spent most of her free time in the library. " _Impedimenta_! _Petrificus Totalus_!" she fired over her shoulder. Her spells managed to delay the monster's determined charge for a few seconds.

"Hermione and I can distract it!" Yellow declared as he dashed over to join the sprinting girl. "Everyone else, light stuff on fire!"

Now that the bat's flames lent a small amount of ambient light to the room, it was easier to find the torches than before. Harry made a beeline for one, despite the lack of strength in his legs. He couldn't just sit aside uselessly when everyone else was fighting, even if his head injury was slowing him down. If _Malfoy_ could set aside his prejudices to work alongside Hermione, Ron, and a troupe of Harrys, then Harry could power through a measly concussion!

Harry's wobbly walk suddenly stabilized as someone ducked under his shoulder to support him. "Remind me later to give you a Hermione lecture for self-endangerment or something," Red's gruff voice said in his ear. "I thought _I_ was the super-Gryffindor one."

"You had to get it from somewhere," Harry said with a loopy grin.

Between the seven people (and one dog) on torch-lighting duty, it wasn't long before the room was lit and the bat was down. All of the Harrys dove on the beast with wild abandon. They slashed and stabbed as quickly as their arms could manage, and then the bat was back on its feet and angrier than ever. Harry only managed to scoop up a few of the jewels it shed before a flaming wing knocked him into a backwards tumble.

With the monster's fury came a burst of speed; it moved too fast for them to outrun it now, and wing-strikes came with almost double the frequency. The room echoed with screams, curses, and canine yelps as the bat mercilessly smacked down everyone too slow to get out of range. Harry only managed to avoid getting hit again by lying flat on the floor and refusing to move. Given that his head felt like it would explode and his eyes kept crossing, it wasn't too difficult to lie still.

When he heard Ron insult the bat's mother from the opposite side of the room, Harry jumped up, lit two torches, and then toppled over. He lay prone on his back, waiting for the dizziness to pass and the bat to get far enough away for him to move again. Crabbe's and Goyle's twin grunts of pain were his signal to light the last two torches. He dropped to the floor after this, too, and waved Red on when the boy paused to look at him in concern.

"Go kill the bat. I'm fine here," he said, though the words might have come out slurred.

Red nodded and ran toward the screeching monster, only to be replaced by Malfoy and Dog. "What's wrong with you, Potter?" Malfoy asked, one eyebrow raised. "Your eyes are rolling like marbles."

"Got a knock on the head a while ago. We were headed toward the Hopsit…the Hospital Wing when we got lost," Harry explained. "Been concussed for the whole dungeon."

"Really?" The blond's other eyebrow rose. Had he been anyone else, Harry might have said he looked impressed.

A terrible, dying screech filled the air as the bat was finally vanquished. Harry flopped onto his side in time to see it rise, twitching, into the air and disintegrate into white ash. The greyish white powder then disappeared in the usual puff of dark smoke, leaving behind a scroll that hovered over the floor. The door at the back of the room, behind where the monster had first appeared, slid open to reveal a dark hallway beyond.

"Ha-HA! Beat you, you ugly rat!" Red crowed triumphantly. With a joyful skip in his step, he went around picking up the jewels left in the monster's wake.

"A scroll?" Hermione approached the floating object with curiosity shining in her chocolate-brown eyes. "Is it another map?"

"It could be," Blue said as he walked up to inspect it. "I doubt this dungeon is the only one around. This could be a map to lead us in the right direction."

"Or to show us where _not_ to go," Ron said with a shudder. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend my next weekend fighting flaming bats."

"Ooh, what if it's a present?" Yellow skipped up to the scroll and plucked it out of the air. "I mean, the dungeon gave us lanterns and Draco got a dog, so what if…?" He trailed off as he opened the scroll, his face going blank.

No one else noticed, for their faces had gone slack as well. For several seconds, no one moved or breathed. Had anyone else walked in at that moment, they would have thought the room to be filled with silent, living statues.

This sudden peace was not caused by some spell of relaxation or sleep, but by the chaos now swirling within the minds of nine children and one dog. When Yellow had opened the scroll, something akin to a bomb of pure _knowledge_ had gone off.

Harry lay on the floor with his mouth open in a soundless scream as information far too advanced for his years was shoved into his head with the subtlety of an icepick to the skull. Magical theory and Arithmancy equations he hadn't had the slightest inkling of swirled within his befuddled brain, all circling around the same concept. Despite the volume of knowledge, its breadth was minimal; his mind had been pried open and flooded for one very specific lesson to be taught, and that lesson was—

"I can conjure a lantern?" Harry said in confusion. He sat up—too discombobulated to notice that his headache was gone—and waved his hand. A fiery red lamp, identical to the one he'd used to fight the bat, appeared in the air. He caught it by the handle before it could fall. The boy frowned at it, unsure of what this signified.

"We can _wandlessly_ and _wordlessly_ conjure a magical object?!" Hermione gasped. She, too, had called up a lantern, and held it up like it had told her the secrets of the universe. "That scroll just taught us magic beyond what we'd ever learn at Hogwarts," she said reverently. "I don't even know when or where I would ever need a lamp like this again, but _thank you_ , whoever wrote that wonderful, wonderful scroll."

Malfoy studied his lantern. His eyes were suspiciously bright and the remnants of a real smile could be seen on his lips. At the edge of his hearing, Harry heard him murmur, "Father will be pleased."

"Setting things on fire sounds like fun," Red said as he rattled his lantern. Drops of liquid flame spilled out and sizzled on the floor. "If we ever wind up in another place like this, having a lamp on-call would be nice, too." He tossed the lantern into the air and vanished it with a dismissive wave. "Well, that was cool! Why don't we go see whether the bat was really sitting in front of the exit? It'd suck if we went through all that and still have more of this cave to work through."

Everyone took a moment to mentally right themselves and then walked through what they hoped was the dungeon's exit. The corridor it led to wasn't long, and they soon stepped into a well-lit room made of clean-cut white and cream stone.

The air was slightly hazy, filled with the stink of ozone and burnt hair. Crackling electricity could be heard and energy seemed to buzz around them. The reason for this stood at the back of the otherwise innocuous room: four large spheres of black shadow, each bearing a familiar swollen eye and bat-like wings, were lined up against the wall. Between them danced colorful tongues of something that looked like electricity, but wasn't quite the same. It inspired the same unpleasant, heavy feeling as the dark smoke that had filled the Chamber of Secrets.

"Those look evil," Crabbe commented.

"The eyes resemble the one on that door, too," Hermione said. "Does whoever that crafted this curse have some fondness for them? Are they a symbol, of sorts?"

"Yes, absolutely," Blue told her, "which means these things are probably an important part of the curse. Does anyone have any ideas for destroying them?"

"Hey, does anyone else notice the floating crystal just sitting there?" Ron asked. When everyone looked at him, he jerked his thumb toward a giant, glowing, square-cut yellow jewel that hovered over the floor in a way similar to the scroll. "We should probably grab that."

Yellow, who apparently had the fewest reservations about touching mysterious floating things, trotted over to the gem and picked it up. The others braced themselves. When no painful burst of knowledge attacked their minds, they relaxed with a sigh of relief. "I don't know what this is for," Yellow said with a frown. "I'm pretty sure it isn't evil, but—"

The jewel popped out of existence, startling the boy. At the same time, the yellow gem on Dog's collar glowed and then disappeared. Dog noticed the light coming from his neck and stifled a surprised yelp. While the children were busy staring at the larger golden crystal, Dog pawed confusedly at his collar. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been wearing it, but in the time he'd had it on, it had never done that before.

"…Okay, that was odd," Blue said. "Still, can anyone think of a way to get rid of these eyes? They're sitting in front of a staircase, which might just be the _real_ exit."

"We could hit 'em with our swords," Red suggested. "That seems to work on everything else."

"Those eyes are _visibly_ electrified. If you're wrong, you could be electrocuted."

Red shrugged. "I've gotten a shock before. I hit one of those stupid electric-jelly monsters on the grounds, remember?"

Blue snorted at the memory, as did the other three Harrys and Ron. The die-hard Gryffindor had gone into one of his usual reckless charges and wound up flat on his back with the ends of his hair smoking. "Be my guest, then," the boy said with a slight smirk.

Red stuck his tongue out at him. "You'll get shocked too, you know, if I screw up." He stepped up to the eyes and raised his sword in preparation to strike.

"Wait!" Malfoy called.

Red halted mid-swing, then looked over his shoulder at the aristocrat. "Er, why?"

"Because we found something that might help you and I'd rather get out than see you 'electrocuted', whatever that is. You're useful, and I need you to stay that way." Malfoy replied. He snapped his fingers at Goyle. "Give him the blue rock, will you?"

Goyle nodded and dug around in his schoolbag. He pulled out a large, blue triangular crystal that he tossed to Red.

"Thanks!" Red held out his sword to collect the crystal. When it vanished into the blade, Harry felt his sword vibrate on his back. He gripped the hilt to unsheathe it and felt a wave of power travel up his arm. Marveling at the strength that seemed to flow from it and into him, Harry removed the sword from its sheath and examined it.

The blade glowed with a pulsing golden light. Something—a memory not remembered, or perhaps a foreign familiarity—stirred within him as he gazed upon it. He felt reassured, though he couldn't explain why. Harry moved the blade around experimentally, mesmerized by the flickering after-image it left in its wake.

"So _this_ is what the gems do," Blue mused. The boy slowly swung his sword in a wide figure-eight. "This warrants further study."

Harry walked toward the shadowy, electrified eyes and clamped a hand onto Blue's arm as he went. "Sure. _After_ we get rid of these eyes," he said as he dragged his blue clone with him. Fierce determination burned in his chest. He'd just been given a power-boost and he knew exactly what to do with it. "Yellow, come on!"

"You plan to have us _all_ get fried instead of just Red?" Blue complained. "You're not exactly a _compassionate_ leader, are you?"

"We won't get fried," Harry said with firm certainty. "Our swords are fully powered up, now. They were _meant_ for this, and now they're strong enough to do it."

"And you know this _how_?"

"Because…" Harry blinked in confusion when he drew a blank. He knew the swords would work because he knew. There was no explaining the phenomenon because the fact that it had happened was its only explanation. "Er, the sword told me," he said lamely, "with…er, with its connection to me, and all. Anyway, let's get back to Hogwarts!" He pulled a frowning Blue over to the set of eyes, where Red and Yellow were waiting.

"Ready?" Red asked, raising his sword.

"Ready to punch Green if we wake up in the Hospital Wing," Blue muttered with an annoyed glare at Harry.

"Ready!" Harry and Yellow chimed brightly.

The four Harrys brought up their swords and, in one simultaneous motion, slashed through the constricted pupil of each eye. Upon being struck, the eyes snapped shut. The dazzling energy crackling around them vanished, and the eyes exploded into black shards.

After an ecstatic cheer (or, in Malfoy's case, a half-restrained smile), everyone charged up the steps that had been guarded by the eyes. They were happy to be done with the whole ordeal and eager to fall into their warm, safe beds.

Everyone but Harry, that was.

The green-eyed boy hung back, frowning at where the eyes had stood. He had the sense that they were missing something. A foreboding feeling weighed down on his chest. Harry knew breaking the eyes ought to have caused something to happen—other than what had already happened, anyway. Though he didn't have a clue what was wrong, the glaring lack of whatever-it-was rubbed him the wrong way.

' _Whatever it is, no point in fretting about it,'_ Harry thought with a mental shrug after a minute of thought. _'Either it'll come to me or it won't. I'll be fine either way, I'm sure.'_ With the matter temporarily resolved, he hurried up the steps after his classmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To ward off any conspiracies it may inspire (because this isn't a plot point), the bad feeling that Harry had at the end there was just a lack of Force Fairies. For anyone who hasn't played Four Swords Adventures, Force Fairies are the equivalent of lives. There aren't any continues in this fanfic, no siree~


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children are presented with Hylian lore, the consequences of their actions, and the possibility of more adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted an illustration of Hogwarts and a couple of gifs that I'm pretty proud of! Also, I find Four Swords lore is a tad confusing (I've played Adventures, but not the first game because it requires four players), so I hope I haven't summarized it too terribly in this chapter. That is all--carry on, and maybe leave a review, please?

The eyes watched him as he floated aimlessly through the endless void. Their golden borders glinted with an oily light and the rustling of their small, fleshy wings echoed off of unseen walls.

“I’ve found the perfect place—my own Sacred Realm. No maidens, no sages, no Hero, no _Hyrule_. The Goddesses are nothing but forgotten failures in this perfect world. There’s even a castle, just for me,” a gleeful voice cooed in his ears. It sounded like multiple people speaking at once—a child, an adult, and something strikingly inhuman. “You wield a borrowed sword with no power to its name, little pretender. With my new magic, even the _real_ Hero would have no choice but to bow before me or perish.”

Laughter filled the empty darkness.

“No one can stop me! I will be a—!”

“Hey, Green! Guess what?”

Harry jerked awake and scrambled to sit up. In his disorientation, he nearly flung himself from his bed. “Huh? Green? Whassit?”

“I have news!” the jubilant voice declared. A blurry hand came toward Harry’s face and pushed his glasses onto his nose. With the sight aids in place, Yellow snapped into focus.

“Oh, it’s you. What time is it?” Harry asked with a yawn. He stretched his shoulders, which protested by aching even worse.

“Noon-ish. Lunch will be soon,” Yellow replied.

Harry halted mid-stretch and dropped his arms to his sides. “Noon? I slept in that late?” Thanks to Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon waking him to make breakfast every morning, he’d been an early riser for as long as he could remember. Usually, his body woke him up at sunrise and refused to let him go back to sleep.

“Yes, but that’s not important because I have _news_ ,” Yellow huffed. He perched on the edge of Harry’s bed. “You know how there was a shield around the castle?” he asked. When Harry nodded, the boy continued, “Well, it moved. Now, instead of stopping at the edge of the grounds, it goes aaall the way to Hogsmeade. You know what that means?”

Harry frowned. “Er, Hogsmeade trips that we can’t go on ‘cause we blew up our aunt? The Dursleys didn’t give us permission to go, remember?”

“Yeah,” Yellow sighed. His shoulders slumped dejectedly. “Ron and Hermione can get us stuff, though.” The boy perked back up. “Maybe if I grovel to Malfoy, I can get him to buy us things, too. He’d like to see Harry Potter kneel and I’m willing to do it if it gets us treats.”

Harry winced at the thought of himself begging in front of _Malfoy_. Maybe the blond was slightly less of an arse than he’d been a week before, but he was still a pompous, bigoted git. “Urgh, don’t do _that_. He’ll start lording over us like we’re his servants.”

“Oh, right. He has a long way to go before he’s all fixed,” Yellow said with a sage nod.

“‘All fixed’? What do you—?”

“Anyway, lunch is down in the common room again. Do you want me to bring you something? Blue’s having me fetch him a plate, since he’s too sore to move,” Yellow said. He nodded toward a bed on the other side of the room, which contained an undersized thirteen-year-old curled around an oversized book.

“I’ll be down in just a bit. Let me get dressed.” Harry slid out of bed, gritting his teeth when pain lit up in his thighs and calves, and gingerly knelt down by his trunk.

Yellow hopped to his feet with no apparent difficulty. “I’ll make you a plate, just in case,” he chirped as he skipped out of the room.

“If he weren’t so cute, I’d like to snatch the smile off his face,” Blue growled from across the room. “How _dare_ he bounce around like nothing hurts?”

A wry grin twisted Harry’s lips. “Hufflepuff is the House of the hardworking and the indestructible, I guess.” He shrugged, and then regretted it as his shoulder muscles burned. “If it makes you feel any better, I bet Malfoy’s feeling twice as sore as we are. Even if he wasn’t swinging a sword, someone as old-money rich as him has to be a total layabout.”

“Yeah, I bet.” An unsettling satisfied smirk crossed the boy’s face.

Harry shivered at the eerie expression Blue wore and busied himself with pulling out a set of worn, comfortable clothes for the day. “So, er, what book is that?” he asked. The tome his clone was currently occupied with was thick and square, and about half a meter across. Its gold-edged pages contrasted against a cover of emerald-green leather. Though Harry wasn’t one to spend time in the library, he didn’t recall seeing a book like that during any of the times Hermione had dragged him there.

“It’s a book of legends and a bestiary,” Blue replied. “Professor Dumbledore conveniently found it somewhere and decided to send a copy of it to each House for students to reference.” He turned the book around and stood it up to show Harry the illustration he’d been looking at.

“That’s a pig-man!” Harry exclaimed.

“It’s a ‘Moblin’, according to the rather patchy translation spell,” Blue corrected. “Whatever language this was written in, only about half of the characters have any matches in English and only basic words got translated. The text in here is a mishmash of glyphs, Romanized words that make no sense, and some English phrases here and there.”

Harry abandoned his quest to get dressed and went over to Blue’s bed. He sat down cross-legged beside his counterpart and peered down at the large book with interest. “This must be the language of Hyrule,” he said thoughtfully, running his fingers across a line of symbols. The writing was narrow and vertical, composed of straight lines. It rang in his mind as oddly familiar. He thought he might have recognized a few words…but no, that was silly. Harry couldn’t read a language invented long before English!

“Hyrule? Where’s that?”

“Hmm?” Harry drew his attention from the book to notice Blue giving him a curious look. “It’s the kingdom this book is from. Since I found the sword under Hogwarts castle, this place might have been part of Hyrule a long time ago,” he said. “Haven’t you heard the eyes talking about it in your dreams?”

“They’ve mentioned how I’m only an empty shell with no element to my name—whatever that means—but nothing about a place called ‘Hyrule’,” Blue told him. He seemed intrigued. “Do you think being the original Harry grants you a closer connection to all this?” He gestured toward the book.

“You’re just as real as I am, Blue,” Harry said. “Even if the sword made you, you’re a person, too.”

“Yes, yes, I know that.” Blue flapped a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt my feelings at all to call you the original because I can _feel_ you were meant to lead us.” He paused, then added, “And you’d better not let that go to your head, because I’m still quite willing to thump you with a book.”

Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “Of course.”

“What I mean is that you seem to have more of an intuition about these things than we do, possibly because you’re the one who pulled out the sword in the first place,” Blue said. He flipped to a page in the book that showed four blond, blue-eyed boys in different-colored tunics and pointed caps. One wore green, another wore red, the third wore blue, and the last in line wore violet. Each boy held a golden-hilted sword identical to those of the Harrys, as well as a small shield with a vaguely birdlike crest on it. “Can you read any of this?” Blue asked, pointing to the solid block of untranslated text on the page opposite the image. “Obviously, these boys are related to us in some way, but Harry Potter was never designed for linguistics and I can’t even start to translate this gibberish.”

Harry made a face. “It’s weird enough to refer to ourselves in the plural, mate. Don’t bring the third-person into it.”

Rolling his eyes, Blue cuffed the back of Harry’s head. “Look at the _text_ , you ditz. Can you read it?”

“It’s probably a couple millennia old, if not older, Blue. Of course I can’t read Hylian.”

“I don’t care. Look at it.” Blue eyes sparkled with mad intensity. “ _Stare_ at it.”

Harry would rather have faced down one of Snape’s sneers than the frightening expression on Blue’s face. “Okay, fine!” He obediently hunched over the book and focused on the faded brown lines of Hylian glyphs. The boy _knew_ he couldn’t read this lost language any better than his more intelligent counterpart could. Thanks to the Dursleys and the limitations of a magical education, the only tongue he had truly learned was English. As Blue had said, Harry Potter had never been destined to be a linguist, and—

Wait a minute, when had the text popped into English? “I think that faulty translator spell finally did its job,” he reported to Blue. “All the words are in English, so you don’t need me to read them for you anymore.”

Surprised squawking noises in a language he didn’t know met his ears. Confused, Harry looked over at Blue.

The sapphire-eyed boy looked like he’d just caught a slap to the face. He spoke in rapid…something-or-other and fluttered his hands in excited gestures. When he noticed Harry paying attention, he spouted gibberish that sounded like a question.

“Are you alright? You’re speaking nonsense,” Harry said with a concerned frown. Maybe the book was cursed to make its readers start talking in tongues. If so, Harry would soon be next. He hoped the curse wore off before the next day; he didn’t fancy sitting through Transfiguration while unable to answer Professor McGonagall in anything resembling English.

Blue said something else, cocking his head to one side.

“I can’t understand you,” Harry said loudly and slowly. “You aren’t speaking—ow!” He yelped when Blue unexpectedly whipped out a small paperback and smacked him on the nose with it. “Why did you hit me this time?” he demanded.

“Because you got stuck on the wrong language setting and I was putting you right,” the other boy sniffed. “You looked at the text, and when you looked up, you started speaking in what I assume was Hylian. Either that, or the book put a Babbling Curse on you.”

“That was Hylian? But it sounded like English to me,” Harry said in surprise. “I thought _you_ were the one who got cursed.” He glanced at the book and was unnerved to see the text flicker between glyphs and English. “Ooh, this is sword-magic again, isn’t it? I’m not sure if I like this.” The thought of a magical artifact affecting his thinking still brought up painful memories of Riddle’s diary. He imagined it would take a long time before those recollections lost their potency.

“If you start strangling roosters and painting messages on the walls in chicken blood, I promise to have Red knock you unconscious and drag you to Professor Dumbledore,” Blue said with mocking solemnity.

Harry grinned, despite his lingering unease, and bumped the boy’s shoulder with his own. “Glad to know you care.”

“If you were gone, I’d have one less person to tease,” Blue said with an amused smirk. “Now, why don’t we put your curse-knowledge to good use and do some research? I’m sure you can manage a few hours’ worth of brainpower.”

“It’s _Sunday_ , though,” Harry whined. _Hermione_ was the one who did research on weekends!

Blue raised an eyebrow. “Unless you intend to go out and fight monsters while your arms feel ready to fall off, I doubt you have much planned.”

The boy had a point. Harry’s body hurt too much to do anything other than sit, lounge, and do a little walking. At some point, he would definitely have to put together an exercise regimen for him and the other Harrys to follow—and maybe Ron and Hermione, as well.

“Fine, I’ll help you,” Harry sighed in defeat. “ _Ravenclaw_.”

“You could stand to indulge your inner Raven once in a while, and this is the perfect opportunity. Let’s start with the first line…”

* * *

“…he was originally a what, now?” Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose.

“A Picori. This little, er, fairy thing? The book didn’t say much about them. Anyway, he was a Picori—or a Minish?—and he used a wishing hat and a ‘golden power’ to become a god. That’s how he turned into an eyeball. He got sealed away, and then he escaped a while later and kidnapped a bunch of girls for some reason. After the girls used their powers to seal him back in, he broke out a while later and kidnapped the princess of Hyrule. Then he was stopped by the Hero for the third time and banished by the Princess. Vaati escaped _again_ when I accidentally yanked out the sword. It’s actually a good thing I pulled out the sword, though, because he would have broken it anyway and it’s probably needed to seal him back up again,” Harry concluded. “That’s my report. Did you get all that?”

“To be honest, no.” Malfoy rubbed his temples. “I just had History of Magic, Madam Pomfrey refuses to treat me for muscle pains, and I have a pounding headache after Pansy had me help her pick out a scent this morning. She only ever wears _musk_ , so it feels like a whole garden crawled up my nose. Ugh.”

The boy’s blunt honesty caught Harry by surprise. Malfoy never seemed like a normal human being with normal human problems. Harry was accustomed to the aristocrat acting like a spoiled prince whose worries could all be solved by a letter to his all-powerful father, not like an actual thirteen-year-old boy. This new behavior was as bizarre as Dudley offering to help with the dishes.

“The short of it is that the creepy, flying eyeball has a long history, just like my sword and all the beasties around Hogwarts,” Harry said, deciding to take pity on Malfoy. Monday mornings were always the worst, and they were doubly terrible when one was still suffering from the aches and pains of an adventure. “His name is Vaati the Wind Mage, he wants to be all-powerful, and he’s learned a new kind of magic that’s apparently super strong. If he takes over the world, that would be bad.”

“I’m tired, not a simpleton, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “Just tell me what needs to be done to stop the bloody windbag.”

“Usually, the Chosen Hero would have to gather up Princess Zelda and six other Sacred Maidens to seal Vaati away…” Harry began. He bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet and bit his lower lip. “…but, um, I don’t think there _are_ any of those people around anymore. They’re supposed to reincarnate, but if there were a real Hero of Hyrule around, I wouldn’t have been the one to pick up the sword. Vaati said—he, er, talks to me in my dreams sometimes—that they’re all dead, and I’m kind of just assuming he’s right because it’s not like I know what a Sacred Maiden is.” He shrugged. “If he’s telling the truth, either something happened to break the cycle or the process skips a few generations. I’m technically a Hero because I’ve got the magic sword, but not _the_ Hero because I’m not blond and named Link, there probably aren’t any sacred maidens or a Hylian princess, and there’s a mad eyeball bent on achieving godhood roosting somewhere in Great Britain. Assuming he hasn’t flown to another part of the world, anyway.”

Malfoy looked like he wanted to throw something through a window—possibly Harry. “Wonderful,” the boy said through gritted teeth. “Any ideas on how to stop this nonsense without a gaggle of random girls or the princess of a nonexistent country being involved?”

“Er, we go through caves like the one we just escaped, find all the House-colored crystals, and break all the electrified eyes?”

The blond stared at him flatly before turning toward the door. “It’s too early in the bloody week for this,” he grumbled. “Stupid windbag eyeball. Why didn’t anyone just _kill_ the damn thing? Bloody idiots…” Malfoy’s irritated muttering faded as the boy stalked out of the room and down the hall.

“That went well,” Harry sighed. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to be pleased, though he was glad the boy hadn’t had a tantrum after hearing how impossible the situation was. Harry himself was tempted to throw a fit, but years of Dursley conditioning kept him as behaved and mild-mannered as usual.

“He’ll be with us on our next adventure; I’m positive.” Yellow appeared in the corner, stuffing his Invisibility Cloak into his schoolbag.

“What makes you so sure?” Harry asked. “He’s almost as scrawny as we are. Hardly the adventuring sort.”

“He got tangled up in our last quest, didn’t he?” Yellow grinned cheekily. “As rich as he is, Malfoy’s luck isn’t much better than ours. He’ll be there when we need him, whether he wants to be or not.”

* * *

Across the castle, an inter-House group of second-years was using the break between classes to explore one of the new areas that had appeared within the castle. Four young students crept along a fourth-floor corridor that hadn’t existed before the previous Saturday, their eyes peeled for any patrolling monsters. The last thing they wanted was for a Phantom or a Floormaster to pop out of nowhere and teleport them all the way back to the Entrance Hall.

A five-note chime caught the ears of the group’s leader, a tall and powerfully-built Slytherin. “Wizzrobes!” she barked in warning. “Get ready to dodge!” As she said this, a human-sized, toucan-like creature clad in a yellow robe appeared in front of her. “No summoning for you! _Incendio_! _Incendio_!” she shouted, firing off a two rapid spells. They hit the Wizzrobe in the middle of its spellcasting, causing it to warp away with a pained yelp.

There was a “whoosh” and a giggle as another Wizzrobe managed to complete its spell, then a piercing scream from the Hufflepuff who’d caught an ice-boomerang to the gut.

“Davy!” his Ravenclaw sister cried in dismay.

“Don’t get distracted, Cindy!” the Slytherin ordered. She turned her head constantly, spinning in slow circles until the next five-note chime sounded. The yellow-clad Wizzrobe she’d hit appeared a few meters off, and she shot two fire spells as quickly as her reflexes would allow. The birds would summon swarms of Keese—sometimes _flaming_ Keese—if left to their own devices.

Whoosh!

The Slytherin fell into a roll at the sound. When she glanced over, she saw three fireballs hit where she’d been standing. “Lovegood, stop sitting there and start shooting!” she yelled in frustration at the blonde who’d crouched next to the downed Hufflepuff.

“Okay,” the girl said with a shrug. When the teal-robed fire Wizzrobe next appeared, she sent an obscure Transfiguration spell at it that caused its wand to become a large, limp pasta noodle. The creature stared at the noodle uncomprehendingly and then vanished with a wail of defeat.

The Slytherin cackled. “Nice work, Lovegood!” She ducked an ice boomerang and then fired another set of _Incendios_ at the yellow Wizzrobe she could see readying its next spell. The bird disappeared with a haunting cry of its own, leaving one Wizzrobe left.

Cindy was the closest to it this time, and she was ready to get revenge for her poor twin. “ _Expelliarmus_! _Incendio_! _Incendio_! _Flipendo_!” she rattled off. The Wizzrobe’s wand went flipping out of its hand just before the turquoise-robed toucan was slammed into the wall under the force of her spells. It quickly shook them off, but upon noticing its wand gone, the creature caterwauled and vanished in a puff of dark smoke. A red, triangular crystal appeared in its wake and clattered to the ground.

With the Wizzrobes defeated, a treasure chest faded into existence in the middle of the corridor. The students gaped at it, having never before seen one in real life. They hadn’t expected such a reward; no one else who’d gotten mobbed by monsters had received anything but a Hospital Wing visit from it.

“Oh! The game gave us a prize,” Luna Lovegood said with a soft smile on her face. She walked over to the treasure chest and opened it. “Knowledge!” she said delightedly as she pulled out the scroll within. “What a lovely gift.” When she pulled it open, everyone went still.

* * *

“Draco, you need to wake up.”

The boy blinked blearily. “Floormasters in the dorm again?” he asked.

“Not right now. No, it’s something else.”

Draco groaned and sat up. “What is it?” He rubbed his eyes and squinted at…Millicent Bulstrode? “Since when did you come into the boys’ dorms? I thought your parents forbade it.”

“It’s about my sister, Draco,” Millicent said with deadly seriousness. “Something weird happened to her.”

“‘Weird’ how?” Draco’s interest had now been piqued. He drew himself up straight, as if he hadn’t been shaken out of a dead sleep seconds before, and regarded the girl with curiosity. “Was she cursed?”

“According to her, she and her ‘adventure team’ found a scroll after beating a trio of those magic toucans—”

“Wizzrobes.”

“Stupid name, but yes, those things. They defeated them, and then a treasure chest appeared in the corridor. It had a scroll inside it, and when they opened that…well, she said it ‘shoved knowledge’ into their heads, and then they could all cast a new spell.”

“A scroll did that, you say?” Draco had to fight to keep an expression of excited recognition off his face. So there were more of these instant-learning scrolls! Sure, a new spell wasn’t quite as big as being able to conjure up a magical object with a wave of one’s hand, but it could still be useful. “What spell did they learn?”

“You know how the some of those Wizzrobe things spin their wands around and then send fireballs at you? That’s the one they learned.” She shuddered. “It’s positively spooky to see Amanda cast it. She does it just like they do, with a wand-twirl and no incantation.”

“Brilliant,” Draco breathed. His mind whirled, calling up all sorts of scenarios. He wasn’t one for quests, but any Slytherin could appreciate power, and that was what these scrolls were for. If he came home for Yule break with the ability to conjure powerful artifacts on a whim and cast ancient, wordless spells, his father would be absolutely chuffed!

“Brilliant? My sister got cursed by a scroll and now has monster-magic!” Millicent cried. “This isn’t a thing to be happy about!”

Draco smirked slyly and called up his fire-lamp. He had to suppress a laugh at the bug-eyed look on Millicent’s face. “I think you’ll find that it _is_ , Millie.” He held up the lantern to show her the flames dancing within. “Now, how do you feel about going on an adventure?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's and Draco's tentative new dynamic settles in a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're gonna have a few set-up chapters before the next plot event I have planned. Mild warning for a mention of Harry's sucky childhood.

A long-fingered hand caught Harry’s wrist as he went to drop cubes of crystallized Bubotuber pus into his cauldron. “Learn to _read_ , Potter,” hissed the owner of the hand, a sneering Professor Snape. “Stir _counter_ -clockwise, bring the cauldron to a medium heat, and _then_ add the crystallized Bubotuber pus. Five points from Gryffindor.” He released Harry and then glided across the classroom to lecture Hermione on the difference between dicing and chopping.

Harry made a face at the teacher’s back and then stirred and heated up his simmering potion. He hated it when Snape gave him legitimate criticism because it reminded him that the awful man was an actual teacher who knew what he was doing. It was so much easier to simplify the man to a bullying git, rather than think of him as a _knowledgeable_ bullying git.

Unfortunately for Harry’s worldview, Snape had been more instructive during this Potions session than he’d ever been. Having his classroom blown up must have taught him a lesson of some sort, because the man was twice as paranoid as usual. He had been correcting _everyone_ , not just the Gryffindors, though he hadn’t taken any points from his precious Slytherins. One unforeseen benefit of Hogwarts going mad was a sudden uptick in the quality of that year’s Potions classes. Who would have guessed?

The Draught of Distraction that Harry turned in that day was probably E-quality. He was sure it would be graded as a P or an A at best, but it was probably the best-brewed potion he’d produced in his years at Hogwarts. He stepped out of the classroom with a warm sense of pride in his chest and a slight skip in his step.

A tug on his sleeve drew his attention. Harry looked around. He noticed Malfoy standing still in the moving crowd, fiddling with his tie in a finicky fashion. His eyes flicked up at Harry. “Trophy room,” the boy mouthed. He then departed with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson in tow.

He turned, intending to give the Harry next to him a prompting nudge, and was surprised to see Hermione standing there instead. Hadn’t he walked out with Blue? They’d been working next to each other in class he could have sworn they’d left together, too.

“Er, hi, Hermione,” he said awkwardly. Internally, he scrambled to find a topic. “So, how’d your potion go?”

“Well enough. Professor Snape showed me how to cut the catfish whiskers to the right fineness, but my potion turned out a little too blue to be considered celadon,” she said. “What was that with Malfoy? I noticed he didn’t start any drama in class today, even though the professor was in a Gryffindor-punishing mood.”

Harry froze up. Lie! He needed a lie! He needed one right now!

“Erm, I…We, er, have a truce?” he choked out. The boy then mentally kicked himself. That hadn’t been a lie, darn it!

Yellow popped out of nowhere with Blue in tow and hooked his arm around Harry’s. “Green and I were going to take a Floormaster up to the first floor and find a bathroom not guarded by monsters,” he told Hermione. “Blue wanted to talk to you, though!” He gave the aforementioned Harry a push toward Hermione, who wore an expression of suspicion and confusion, and then dragged the green-eyed Harry away from the conversation. “Were we or were we not telling the truth?” he whispered to Harry as they walked away. “Because we were following your example, and I can’t tell whether you’re setting a terrible one.”

Harry sighed. “I messed up,” he admitted. “Lying to the Dursleys is easy. Lying to my friends isn’t.”

“Probably because we’ve only had friends to lie to since we came to Hogwarts,” Yellow said in understanding. “I’m sure you already know this, but I’m all for telling the truth. As much as I like hanging out with myself, I like having Ron and Hermione around, too. It feels like we’re pushing them away, when we keep things from them.”

“Some things _have_ to be kept from them.” Harry certainly wasn’t going to tell his friends about his old cupboard or how he’d been cooking breakfast since the age of four. That was just pointless whining of the most humiliating sort. He wouldn’t have put it past someone like Dudley or Malfoy, but Harry Potter didn’t whinge unless it was productive or others shared his complaints. Only brats whined about things no one cared about or could fix.

“Don’t you think they deserve to know that we’ve convinced Malfoy to stop targeting them?” Yellow asked. “Hermione would be glad to know we got him to stop calling her that awful slur.”

“He was a total arse to them last time they spoke,” Harry pointed out.

“Ron called him rat-faced, Green. Have you _seen_ Malfoy? He’s like Lockhart, but actually pretty. Of course he was furious.”

Harry snickered. “You think he’s pretty?”

“Well, he _is_!”

From there, the boys segued into a discussion of glamour spells versus Muggle cosmetics and whether a sheltered pureblood like Malfoy even knew what lipstick was. Harry had learned quite a bit about make-up from his aunt, who made him organize her collection from time to time. Their conversation was put on hold while they let themselves be snatched up by giant, shadowy hands and spat out in the Entrance Hall, then continued all the way up to the trophy room.

“Malfoy, do you know what lipstick is?” Yellow said in lieu of a greeting.

The blond jolted upright from where he’d been leaning lazily against the wall. “What? Lipstick? Er, yes, I know of it,” he stammered. “Lip rouge is more common, though, since it’s easier to mix colors and enchant to stay in place. Why?”

Harry sighed and handed Yellow an I.O.U. note for five Sickles, since the other boy had won the bet. “No reason,” he said nonchalantly. “Anyway, what’s your report? Did anything interesting happen yesterday?”

“ _Yes_ , definitely.” Malfoy gave a little bounce of excitement and then began to pace. “Yesterday afternoon, a Slytherin second-year and some of her year-mates decided to go on an expedition. I’ve heard from my connections that a lot of new areas appeared after our unintentional quest on Saturday; Amanda Bulstrode’s group was the first to do any real exploring,” he said. “They were attacked by a tricolor group of Wizzrobes, which they dispatched in the usual manner. What’s interesting, though, is that they got a _reward_ for it.” He stopped pacing and looked at Harry, his gray eyes sparkling. “At least five students have gone to the Hospital Wing after getting locked in a monster-room or mobbed in the hall, and no one’s ever gotten a treasure chest out of it.” He cleared his throat and schooled his expression into something more aloof. “So, as I was saying, they opened this chest and what do they find? A _scroll_. A magical scroll that cracked their minds open and shoved a spell inside.” The boy waved his hand and pulled a red lamp out of thin air, then vanished it with a flourish. “Sound familiar?”

Harry gasped. “We must have changed something by getting through that cave!”

“Exactly. Not only did we expand the barrier around Hogwarts, but we unlocked new sections within the castle and a new element to this curse,” Malfoy declared. “We can get rewards now, at least in certain areas of Hogwarts. I’ll have to ask around to see what regions follow this new rule. The point is, with these scrolls in play, we now have a very good reason to venture into Hogwarts’s monster-infested wilds.”

A wide grin spread across Harry’s and Yellow’s faces. Now they could practice using their swords _and_ gain awesome new magical skills at the same time! Harry couldn’t wait to tell…well, _everyone_. This was awesome!

“…should come up with teams and back-up teams, just in case,” Malfoy was saying.

“What was that?” Harry asked. He’d been too caught up in his excitement to pay attention.

“In case we wind up wandering into another cave, we should come up with teams and secondary groups,” Malfoy reiterated. “For instance, my servants and I could be on a team with you and Pansy or with the blue and yellow Potters, but not with the muggleborn or the Weasley.”

Harry cringed. “Hermione would probably take a book to your face before ten minutes were up.” The girl was a very compassionate person, but Harry didn’t know how long she could put up with Malfoy’s disrespectful attitude. She reminded Harry of a miniature Professor McGonagall at times.

“I don’t doubt it. Being raised by Muggles is little better than being brought up by wolves.” Malfoy shuddered delicately.

“An interesting thing to say when your father’s a viper,” Yellow retorted. He then squeaked and clapped his hands over his mouth. “Whoops, was that out loud?”

Harry squashed down a snicker at Malfoy’s unguarded look of astonishment and said, “Right, we’ll get on that. Hermione would know how to draw up a proper team roster.”

Malfoy cleared his throat and swept a hand over his slicked-back hair. “If you feel she’s capable,” he sniffed. From the slight sneer curling his lips, he didn’t think she was. “I’ll have Millicent do the same, and we can compare and compromise later.” He turned to leave, then paused.

Fixing Yellow and Harry with a stern frown, he said, “You’d better not go blabbing to everyone about those magic scrolls. I know you’re too disgustingly Gryffindor to understand the concept of keeping treasures to oneself, but imagine the slaughter if a bunch of first-years got it into their heads that they could go off on magical quests and return with new knowledge to show off to their friends. Especially _muggleborn_ firsties who don’t know the first thing about magic. You don’t want to be responsible for filling up the Hospital Wing, do you?”

 _‘We’ve only been working together for a week! Since when did he understand me so well?’_ Harry thought. He hadn’t taken the blond for an observant person. Arrogance, selfishness, and a liking for getting others in trouble had seemed to Harry the only personality traits of Draco Malfoy. He had a small fit of panic as he imagined the tow-headed prat acting with real _intelligence_ in addition to his sadistic cunning.

“Wow, you’re actually rather smart, aren’t you?” Yellow remarked to Malfoy. “You’ve already figured out how to guilt-trip me. That’s impressive; my family hasn’t even learned how to do that yet.”

Though he appeared uncertain for a moment at Yellow’s somewhat backhanded compliment, Malfoy proudly drew himself up. “I’ve always been good at reading people, just like Mother,” he boasted. “The only reason I introduced myself to you the wrong way back in first year was because I had assumed you’d grown up as a proper Potter; we _are_ cousins, you know, through the House of Black. Now I know better.” He flashed Harry a sly, knowing smirk and then strode out of the room.

Stunned silence reigned for several seconds. Harry and Yellow exchanged horrified looks. “He’s my _cousin_?!”

* * *

“You’ve gone mad, Harry! Allying with a _Malfoy_?! You _do_ know where they got their family name from, don’t you?” Ron paced agitatedly across the dorm room. In the background, Neville and Seamus watched him go, their heads turning with his strides. “Malfoys can’t be trusted! It’s in their name and in their history!”

“Yeah, he’s a spoiled brat, but that doesn’t mean you can go calling him a backstabber just because of the family he was born into!” Red shot right back.

“Harry, they were _exiled from France_ for treason!”

“Yeah, and? How many centuries ago was that?”

Ron pursed his lips. “Five.”

“Listen to yourself, mate! You’re on about something that happened half a _millennium_ ago!”

Ron didn’t back down. He planted his feet, crossed his arms, and fired back with, “They’re blood-purity nuts, they’re as Dark as they come, and Malfoy’s own _father_ fought for You-Know-Who in the same war that got your parents killed! The whole lot of them are a bunch of rotten snakes, and this Malfoy’s no different from the others.”

Red deflated a bit, surprise dulling his anger. “You should have started with that,” he said. “I think I’d forgotten.”

“Not sure how something like that slips your mind,” Ron huffed. “He called Hermione the M-word only last year.”

“True. He can be a nasty little bugger,” Red agreed. “Still, though, I’m keeping him on as an ally.” The boy stood up straight and put his hands on his hips. “He’s got good info and we’ve got him on his best behavior around Hermione. Did you notice he didn’t call her that word even once when we were stuck in that cave?”

A startled blink was Ron’s answer. “I…I didn’t notice at all, actually.”

“If we hadn’t called a truce with him last Tuesday, we’d probably have been trapped down there for _ages_ , especially since Malfoy found the big key.”

“I guess so.” Ron wore a frustrated frown as he admitted this. “But he still isn’t trustworthy, Harry. He’s going to throw you under the hippogriff the moment he gets the chance.”

“Then he can have fun wandering forever in whatever dungeon we’ve fallen into, since I’m pretty sure using a magic sword is the only way to break those electrified eyes guarding the exit.” Red patted the leather strap hooked over his left shoulder. “Being a kind-of Hero of Hyrule feels weird, but it has its upsides. Even being split in four isn’t so bad.” With the conflict concluded he looked over at Blue, who had been observing the argument from around the edge of the Gryffindor copy of the Hylian Bestiary. “You know, you could have backed me up at any time during that argument.”

“It was so much more entertaining watching you two hotheads go at it, though.” Blue let the large book fall flat on his bed. “Now that you’ve blown off your respective heads of steam, we can talk about what’s important. I had Green read through this half-translated mess of a reference book, and—”

The door opened and two Harrys tumbled in, breathing hard. Neville and Seamus perked up at this new intrigue. “Ron,” the green-eyed one wheezed. “Did you know that—”

“—Malfoy’s my _cousin_?” his yellow-eyed twin shrilled.

Red and Blue reeled back.

“How many Dudleys are _in_ my bloody family?” Red groaned.

“We’re related to someone who lives in a manor?” Blue asked, a wide grin forming on his face. Oh, he could just imagine the possibilities…

The other three Harrys and Ron goggled at him like he’d just proclaimed his undying love for kazoos. “That’s the first thing that comes to mind? _Really_?” Green said incredulously.

Blue wasn’t at all ashamed. “Consider our first bedroom, why don’t you?” He could imagine it easily, given how much time Harry Potter had spent unwillingly locked there in his earlier youth. Dark, small, frighteningly inescapable yet comfortingly familiar, dank from years of fear-sweat and tears, spider-infested, and swimming in plaster-dust due to Dudley’s habit of jumping on the stairs above it—yes, Blue knew that terrible little cubby-hole intimately well.

As Harry Potter was rarely of a mind to argue with himself, the other Harrys were soon nodding in understanding. “Coming to Hogwarts kind of made me forget about that one dream,” Yellow said with a note of wistfulness.

He meant the dream about someone whisking him away from the dreadful Dursleys to live in a fantastic mansion where he could eat all the ice cream he wanted and not have to worry about his freakishness ruining everything. It had been one of Harry’s favorite recurring fantasies as a small child. “Malfoy isn’t what I imagined, but he’d do in a pinch, don’t you think?” Blue mused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Ron asked. He resembled a befuddled dog, his head cocked to one side and a confused frown on his face.

“Childhood silliness,” Blue said shortly. It was best to nip Ron’s curiosity in the bud, before it got him asking any piercing questions. Sometimes he could be even more perceptive than Hermione. Blue regarded him warily before turning to the green-eyed Harry Potter. “Did Malfoy elaborate at all when he said we were relatives of his?” he inquired. “I figure this is as good an excuse as any to dive into the library’s records of family trees.”

“Er, he said it was through the House of…” Green trailed off, the color draining from his face. Beside him, Yellow breathed a quiet “oh my” of realization. “The House of _Black_! As in _Sirius_ Black!”

Neville and Seamus gasped. “That bloke who’s trying to kill you is your cousin?” the latter boy burst out.

A chorus of surprised yelps and curses rang out as everyone else collectively realized their discussion hadn’t been as private as they’d assumed.

“We’d have escaped before you got too far, but you were yelling at each other and we didn’t want to get caught in the middle,” Neville said apologetically. “We promise not to tell anyone, though.”

“We don’t have to. Malfoy’s probably done it already, the mouthy git.” Seamus made a prompting gesture. “Keep on going! Things were getting interesting.”

Blue shrugged. The school was bound to turn on him sometime this year anyway; he doubted his classmates had completely forgotten the “Heir of Slytherin” scandal of the year before. If Seamus decided to talk (because he doubted Malfoy would, if he hadn’t already done so by now), then it would only get the inevitable over with more quickly. “I’ll go with Hermione to the library after Herbology tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll look up family trees and see what Malfoy was on about. Who knows; maybe we’ll find something related to the Four Sword and Hyrule.”

“When did Hyrule even exist, though?” Red asked. “The kid with the Four Sword we saw in that musty old book looked medieval-ish, but Hyrule was long gone before the Founders turned this castle into Hogwarts back in…er, when was it?”

“Approximately the year one thousand A.D.,” Blue told him. “Which was during the Medieval Era.”

“This conversation took a _way_ different direction than I thought it would,” Ron sighed. He decided to join in with, “How could that other Four Sword bloke be dressed like a Medieval Muggle if Hyrule is supposedly super ancient? Also, what was a Muggle doing with a sword like that?”

Blue thumped a hand on the Hogwarts Bestiary spread out in front of him. “He was a _Muggle_!” he exclaimed. “I never considered that!” Flipping through the pages, he found the illustration of the last boy to use the Four Sword, then kept going until he found the first Four Sword Hero’s vaguer, older portrait. The artist had clearly been working off of a description, not the person in question, but Blue could see that the style of clothing both Heroes wore was remarkably similar, even with centuries between them. Assuming both boys were Muggles from a technologically advanced kingdom that didn’t show on any historical maps…It was like Hyrule was another Atlantis.

“Green, during lunch tomorrow, we’re going to Professor Dumbledore,” the boy spoke into the pages of the splayed-open book. “We need help on this.”

“Why me?” Green whined. “You and Hermione can do research just fine.”

“I may be you, but I can’t read Hylian. Hermione, for all her brains, can’t read a language that dead without a translation key, and not even the translation _spell_ could figure out everything,” Blue pointed out. “If Professor Dumbledore has gotten ahold of any other Hylian books, I’m going to need you to read them. Therefore, we are _both_ going to the professor’s office tomorrow.”

Green sagged in defeat, while Red snickered at his misfortune.

“Red, you and Yellow can come along, too. Professor Dumbledore said he’d Sort us properly once we’d settled in, after all, and he keeps the Hat in his office.”

The other Harrys looked intensely worried. “Sort us?” peeped Yellow. His voice quivered anxiously. “I don’t want to get Sorted to another House.”

“What if I wind up in Slytherin this time?” Green fretted. “I may be Malfoy’s cousin, but I think I’d go mad if I had to share a dorm with him.”

“What if I turn out to be the only one left in Gryffindor?” Red asked. “I don’t want to be alone!” He glanced at Ron. “No offense, mate.”

“There’s a difference between having friends and keeping yourself together.” Ron shrugged. “I get it.”

To be honest, Blue didn’t want to be separated from his other selves, either. He also didn’t want to lose contact with Ron and Hermione, whom he wouldn’t see nearly as often if he were Sorted into Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Then there was the fact that the Slytherins in his year hated him and he couldn’t even remember the name of a single Ravenclaw. Staying in the wrong House wasn’t that bad, all things considered.

“Fine, we’ll tell Professor Dumbledore to let us all stay here for the sake of our mental health,” he declared. “If any of you see Malfoy out and about, ask him what the password to the gargoyle is so we don’t have to stand there rapping off sweets.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More lore trickles in, a new minor character makes an appearance, and Crookshanks blinking back into existence because I realized I forgot him. Whoops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone last chapter pointed out a brain-fart I had in which I forgot how secret passwords work. Since future brain-farts will be inevitable across the length of this planned epic, don't be afraid to point them out so I can avoid repeating them! I miss dumb stuff when I'm editing sometimes :P

“Are you done?” Red asked dully.

Malfoy leaned against a trophy case, still giggling. “You…You turned something I said in _passing_ into some epic research project!” he wheezed. “Oh, Potter, you’re too precious.” Wiping a tear from his eye, the boy forced himself upright and cleared his throat. His pale cheeks were tinged pink from his recent fit of laughter. “Your Black relative was your grandmother, Dorea Black. She married Charlus Potter and had James Potter, who married a muggleborn witch and produced you. Dorea was the sister of my great-grandfather, which makes us cousins of a sort. Honestly, you could have just asked. If you were raised properly, you would have already known this sort of thing.”

Red scowled at the yellow-eyed Harry Potter beside him, who grinned sheepishly. “We were so shocked we forgot we could just run after you and ask you to explain,” the latter admitted. “That’s good, though, ‘cause it got us thinking more about Hyrule and how we might be related to the boys who wielded the Four Sword before us. We were going to ask Professor Dumbledore about it.”

“The old codger _does_ seem to know a lot of things he shouldn’t.” Draco tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, where did he get ahold of the Hylian Bestiary? It must have been somewhere within the school, Hogsmeade, or somewhere in between, because that’s as far as the barrier around the castle stretches.”

“Huh. Never considered that,” Red mused. He’d simply accepted the book’s existence as a useful source of information and moved on. Books could be very helpful things, but he didn’t read them unless he had to. “Maybe Dumbledore had the book in his collection and forgot about it. He’s got enough of ‘em to lose track, and this one’s barely readable unless you’ve got Green on hand to translate.”

“Or he might have waited a week for the chaos to fully set in before revealing this book to us,” Malfoy said. “It could have been a strategic move.”

“Dumbledore doesn’t seem like a ‘strategic’ kind of person to me. He’s just a nice old man,” Yellow said doubtfully.

Malfoy sneered. “‘Nice old man’, my foot. My father tangles with him in the Wizengamot on a regular basis. I’ve heard enough angry rants to know that the old goat’s more of a Slytherin than any former Gryffindor has a right to be.”

The two Harrys exchanged a look. “We’ll think on it,” Red declared, crossing his arms. He knew he wasn’t the best Harry to figure out Professor Dumbledore’s true nature; he’d report this to Blue and Green and let those two get on with it.

“You’d best watch him, Potters. He’s a tricky sort, from his color-blind dressing habits to his senile act,” Draco warned. “And you had better not tell him about our little ‘adventure’. The moment he learns you’re going off hero-ing, he’ll start watching all of us. I’d rather not have the old meddler sticking his crooked nose into our shared business, thank you.”

None of the Harrys had been planning on telling Professor Dumbledore anything, anyway, since they hadn’t wanted to lose House points for almost getting cooked by an oversized Keese. “We’ll keep our mouths shut,” Red said. “No point in getting ourselves in trouble for something that wasn’t our fault.”

Malfoy smirked. “Ah, you’re learning,” he said approvingly. “Now, off you go. Don’t you have a crazy old professor’s office to visit?”

“Oh, yeah! What’s the password?” Red had almost completely forgotten why he’d struck up a conversation with Malfoy in the first place.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I would know? I don’t make a habit of visiting that nutter. I’d rather not spend any more time looking at his eye-gouging outfits than I have to.”

“Do you know or don’t you?” Red asked flatly. “If you don’t, we’ll flag down a teacher and tell them it’s important. You can be useful or you can be not-useful. Useless. Whatever.”

Malfoy smirked at his slip-up. “I never thought I’d see the day when someone fumbled words worse than Weasley,” he drawled. “In exchange for your court-jester act, the password is ‘Mars Bars’. You’re not the only one paying the Headmaster a visit this week. Some of the Slytherins are planning to ask for an expulsion, so I heard the password from them. There are allegedly Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs lining up to get kicked out, too.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “Idiots, all of them. Anyone with sense knows an expulsion won’t do anything for as long as we’re all locked in this puzzle-box.”

“There are people asking to be expelled?” Yellow asked in horror. “But Hogwarts—”

“If I could have Father pick me up right now and send me to Beauxbatons, I’d hop in the carriage right that instant,” Malfoy said bluntly. “The possibility of finding Hylian treasure aside, I’d prefer not have to dodge giant armored golems and musclebound pig-men on my way to History of Magic.”

Red made a face. On one hand, most people weren’t him and thought cool things were scary. On the other hand, how could people _not_ think that fighting monsters was awesome? He could kind of agree that running an enemy-ridden obstacle course every time he went out in the halls made getting to class a little annoying sometimes, though.

“Well, my brothers and I are staying no matter how crazy the castle gets,” he declared. “It’s better than the place we stay at during the summer, monsters and all.”

Malfoy stared at him like he’d spoken in Parseltongue. “You must be joking. Where on earth could you live that’s worse than this?”

Red shrugged. “Someplace that sucks. Bye, Malfoy.” Red grabbed Yellow by the wrist and started towing him away. “Come on. The others should be heading over to the gargoyle right now.”

* * *

“Get to the purple tiles! Hurry!”

“I’m already hurrying, Yellow!” Red puffed as he sprinted toward where the other boy stood. “Why are there Phantoms here, anyway?” He yelped and ducked as the hulking suit of armor on his heels took a swing at him. The monster’s huge sword, almost as big as Red himself, swept over his head with a heavy whoosh. A trail of shadowy smoke swirled after it.

“There are Phantoms on the first floor, the second floor, and the third floor, too, I guess,” Green called from where he stood with Yellow. They’d claimed a patch of lavender tiles on the right-hand side of the corridor about ten meters from Red. Blue stood farther off, in the purple safe-zone that had formed in front of Professor Dumbledore’s password gargoyle.

“We probably should have asked Malfoy about any new monster patrols, now that I think about it,” Yellow mused. “If he’s part of the rumor-mill, he’d hear about stuff like that before us.”

Red ducked another vicious sword-swipe from the Phantom and dove for the closest purple area. The moment he passed its outer edge, the suit of armor that had been chasing him stopped and looked around in confusion. The scarlet lights in its helmet skipped over the three boys standing right in front of it. When it failed to see anything, it turned around to resume its usual patrol. As it did, a big red eye surrounded by a golden border could be seen staring out of the large crack in its back.

“I swear, those things are the most annoying monsters ever,” Red grumbled as Green helped him to his feet. “At least Floormasters forget about you if you get too far from them. Phantoms’ll chase you halfway across the school!”

“That’s what the tiles are for, Red.” Yellow tapped his foot on the glowing, diamond-patterned ground. “It makes things fair.”

Red scowled at the tiles. He thought the shifting patterns of purple, green, and blue looked nice, but knowing that they were the only thing that kept him from having his arse handed to him by a Phantom pissed him off. “If things were _fair_ , we’d be able to kill the stupid things,” he groused. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Phantom was a safe distance away and then stalked toward Professor Dumbledore’s office. The sound of a tinny grunt and subsequent clanking made the boy groan in frustration. He looked up ahead to see another Phantom power-walking toward him with long, distance-eating strides.

“There’s never just _one_ Phantom, Red. You should have learned this by now,” Blue said in that smarter-than-thou way of his when Red tumbled into his patch of safety. “We used the bathroom on the second floor just yesterday, and those things were walking around. Didn’t you notice their overlapping patrol patterns? They’re meant to work in groups.”

“Not all of us…are nerds,” Red wheezed. Without Dudley’s summertime “Harry-Hunting” games to keep him on his toes, the boy hadn’t felt a need to practice running. He was definitely motivated to get back in shape _now_. “I just…wanted to…take a piss.”

Blue crossed his arms. “Sometimes I can’t believe we sprang from the same mind!”

Once both Phantoms were out of sight, Green and Yellow joined their counterparts in front of the gargoyle and Blue told it the password. The boys walked up the moving spiral staircase, being too impatient to wait for it to spin them to the top. They’d already been slowed down by a swarm of Keese, two fire Wizzrobes, and the Phantoms guarding the corridors around Professor Dumbledore’s office. No need to wait on a slowpoke magical escalator, too.

Green knocked on Professor Dumbledore’s door. “Professor? This is Harry Potter and, er, the other Harry Potters. Could we talk to you?” he asked nervously.

 _‘Have we ever been to Dumbledore’s office without being called in?’_ Red wondered, having noticed Green’s fidgeting. He didn’t remember ever having gone here because he felt like it. Maybe that was why Green looked like he wasn’t sure what to do.

The doorknob turned, and then the door swung itself open. “Come in, my dear boy. I’ve been expecting a visit from you,” Professor Dumbledore said from where he sat at his desk.

Yellow skipped in first, the others following after. “Hi, Professor Dumbledore! How are you?” he chirped.

The old wizard smiled kindly at the boy. “I’m doing well, Harry. And you?”

“Being split in four is kinda weird, but it’s nice to be able to talk to myself without sounding bonkers. Me, myself, and I make a good sounding board, you know?”

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. “Ah, yes. I understand that quite well.” He flicked his wand and conjured two more chairs to join those already sitting in front of my desk. “Do sit down, Misters Potter. Oh, and would you care for a sherbet lemon? I find they’re especially good after playing hide-and-seek with Phantoms.”

“So even you can’t get rid of them?” Blue asked while the other Harrys went for the dish of lemon drops. “They seem to be immune to everything. Even our swords can’t do anything but make them stumble a little.”

Red, sucking on a tart candy, looked over his shoulder at the reassuring sight of his sword’s ruby-jeweled grip. The blade had lost its golden glow after he and the others had sliced through the electrified eyes. Whatever those things had been for, they had to have been loaded with magic to suck the energy out of the sword like that. He was willing to bet that he and the other Harrys could take down Phantoms a lot easier than those eyes, if only they could recharge their swords.

“Alas, even the most powerful spells are useless in the face of whatever force animates those creatures,” Professor Dumbledore sighed in response to Blue’s question. “Such magic is millennia old, born of a source far different than what today’s magical folk draw from. It has little to do with a modern witch or wizard’s internal magic or the ley lines that bring magical cities to life.”

“ _Millennia_ old?” Blue sputtered. “How is that possible?”

“The heroes that came before us were dressed in tunics and leggings, like they came from medieval times,” Green said with a frown. “Wouldn’t that have been one millennium ago? Because two millennia would be…er, when Jesus was born, wouldn’t it? I could’ve sworn people wore togas back then.”

“The evidence Professors McGonagall and Flitwick have gathered so far from reading the Hylian Bestiary seems to indicate that Hyrule took a different path of development than the rest of the Western world,” Professor Dumbledore told them. “Until I have any solid evidence, I shan’t confuse you with an old man’s wild theories. However, I can say that it stands to reason that Hyrule did, at one point, exist where Hogwarts now stands.”

“Is Hogwarts the same building as Hyrule Castle?” Green wondered.

“It is possible, though one wonders why ancient Hylian architecture would so closely resemble that of Scotland in the late tenth century.” Professor Dumbledore hummed in thought. “Or is it that that the Scots took inspiration from the Hylians?” He chuckled. “It’s been ages since I’ve been so stumped; with so many questions rattling around this dusty old mind, I feel decades younger!”

“I have a question,” Red said, raising his hand. “Where’d you find the beastie-book you gave out to each of the Houses? Was it buried in the library somewhere, or what?”

“Interestingly enough, I didn’t find it myself,” the Headmaster replied. “One of my painted predecessors heard down the portrait grapevine that an interesting old book had appeared in a room down in the dungeons.” Professor Dumbledore gestured toward one of the many paintings of previous Headmasters that hung on the wall behind him. The old lady in the picture was leaning against her frame and quietly snoring. “When Headmaster Skanderberg reported this to me, I went to this strange room and found the bestiary sitting on a pedestal, looking far younger than a book its age ought to.”

“It was just sitting there, like someone had set it out for you?” Red asked doubtfully. “Did that painting lady tell you who told her where that thing was?”

“She said it was Sir Cadogan, who heard it from Merwyn the Malicious, who heard it from Norvel Twonk, who heard it from Tobias Manlethorpe, and so on. The trail stretches onward with no end in sight, I’m afraid, though you’re welcome to ask around.”

A sudden flash of fire lit up the room as a red and gold bird the size of a peacock burst into existence above Professor Dumbledore’s desk. Red swore, his hand jumping to his sword. The other three Harrys yelped or shrieked in surprise. Green, having thrown himself backward out of reflex, came close to toppling his chair over.

“Good afternoon, old friend. How was your flight?” Professor Dumbledore asked pleasantly as the bird landed on his perch.

Fawkes gave a sad coo and hung his head.

“I’m not surprised, given the power Vaati seems to command.” The Headmaster ran a soothing hand through the bird’s ruffled feathers. “Not even the house elves have been able to travel through the wards, and I’m sure you’re well-aware of their ancient power.”

Red’s eyebrows raised. _‘Vaati’s managed to trap a_ phoenix _, too? That’s some powerful magic.’_ Had that magic not been super evil, he’d have wanted some. Just a dash of that, and he could probably have cleared out every monster in the castle with one wand-flick. _‘Although…that’d make it too easy, wouldn’t it?’_ he thought after some consideration. _‘It’s much more fun to kill stuff with a sword.’_ There was something about swinging a piece of magical steel that made him feel badass, even if he didn’t have much skill yet.

“Professor, could you tell us if you find any more books from Hyrule?” Yellow asked. He sat on the edge of his seat and stared at the Headmaster with wide eyes. Red was stunned by how cute he managed to make Harry Potter’s bony face look. “You see, Green can read in Hylian, so if you find any more books from there, he can tell us what’s in them.”

Never before had Red (or any Harry Potter, for that matter) seen Professor Dumbledore so caught off-guard. The man’s crystal blue eyes went wide and he blinked a few times before hoarsely asking, “You can read a language lost for at least two thousand years, Harry?”

Green nodded, a blush rising in his cheeks. “I think the sword did it, Professor,” he mumbled. “It’s like my brain switches from English to Hylian when I’m looking at the runes.” He bit his lip and went quiet.

Fawkes trilled encouragingly at him. Red felt his heart lift as Green sat a little taller in his chair.

“We learned a lot of the ‘Legends’ section of the book. Hyrule had this thing for blond heroes, princesses named Zelda, and bad guys named ‘Ganon’ or ‘Ganondorf’. The current bad guy—Vaati—even worked for a Ganon at one point,” Green said with more confidence. “Do you think you could look into how this old magic works if Blue gave you his translation notes? Most of the villains used magic to summon monsters and seal places up, like what’s happening now.”

Professor Dumbledore looked like he wanted to hug all the Harrys. “That would be absolutely wonderful, my boy,” he said with a relieved smile. “Investigating this phenomenon so far has been naught but a practice in futility. Your information will help immensely.”

Blue sighed and dug in his schoolbag. He handed over a stack of parchment, sending Green an annoyed glare as he did. With a light chuckle and a tap of his wand, Professor Dumbledore created a copy of the precious scribblings. The pile appeared neatly in the middle of his desk.

“Ooh, I’d like to learn that,” Blue remarked as he put his notes away. “I could do so much…” The boy’s eyes became glassy as his mind spun scenarios.

Red rolled his eyes. Trust the _nerd_ to fantasize about a copy-making spell, of all things. It wasn’t like a mimeograph wouldn’t have worked at Hogwarts; they were hand-powered.

“In the library, under the name _Smart Strategies for the Studious Scholar_ , is a book full of all sorts of spells to suit students of all ages,” Dumbledore told him. “I imagine a young Raven like you might find such a book useful.” He sat back in his chair and interlocked his fingers before him. “Speaking of House emblems, do any of you wish to be re-Sorted? I imagine the House of Lions may be a poor fit for a few of you.” He eyed Blue and Green in particular, which Red found interesting. Was Green more of a Slytherin than he let on?

“We’d go crazy if we got split up, so we’re staying in Gryffindor,” Yellow said with a happy wiggle. “It’s nice that we’re in the same House!”

“‘Go crazy’?” Professor Dumbledore repeated with a raised eyebrow.

“We’re meant to stay together—like, ‘right next to each other’ together,” Red said. He was most at ease when all of the other Harrys were in the same room with him and within arm’s reach. Any farther, and he started feeling a tug at the base of his skull. I wasn’t all that noticeable until one of his brothers walked up to him and his headache suddenly disappeared, but he couldn’t imagine spending most of the day apart from his other selves because they were scattered across different Houses.

“I suppose rearranging your class schedules would be out of the question, then?” Professor Dumbledore questioned.

All of the Harrys nodded quickly. “It’s hard enough to sit in assigned seats across the classroom,” Green said. “If we can pair up in class, we usually do.”

Blue grinned. “I look forward to seeing Snape snap after a month of having four Harry Potters in the same class.” He rubbed his hands together and gave an evil cackle.

“Driving your teachers insane is _rude_ , Blue,” Yellow scolded. “I’ll tell Hermione on you.”

“You’d better sic her on Snape first, ‘cause he’s ten times ruder than we’ve ever been,” Red quipped.

“Do remember that the Potions Master is a _Professor_ , Harry,” Professor Dumbledore gently chided.

Fawkes chirped in an indignant way that distinctly sounded like, “I beg to differ!”

“Don’t mind him. Professor Snape tried to take a tail feather once, when he was an impulsive young twenty-something, and Fawkes hasn’t yet forgiven the man,” the Headmaster sighed. He petted the golden bird with a look of exasperated fondness. “Seeing as it is nearly the end of your lunch break, my dear boys, I’d suggest you get along to class. Perhaps the Phantoms outside might be kind enough to give you a shortcut.”

* * *

“What about this?”

“Too green. The red one, maybe?”

“Ick. No, it’ll make my skin look red, too. Gold?”

“No, it’ll turn you yellow. Navy blue, maybe.”

“I’m too dark for that. I think—”

Hermione, who had been petting the large cat nestled on her lap to distract herself from the nattering conversation, finally ran out of patience. She brought her hand down on the pages of the large book laid out in front of her and fixed Parvati and Lavender with a scowl to match Crookshanks’s. “You wear _black_ school robes,” she growled. “Wear the black ribbon and stop talking, _please_.” The two had been yammering on for the better part of the evening about color seasons and face shapes and “but what if it isn’t feminine?”, and Hermione had been tempted to flee after the first ten minutes. She hadn’t, though, because Crookshanks was comfy and she wanted to read as much of the Hylian Bestiary as she could before Blue nagged her to give it back. He’d had it since Saturday! It was time someone else got a turn, and she was using the enchanted stairs guarding her dorm to get that chance.

While Hermione’s dorm-mates muttered about her stick-in-the-mud status, the bushy-haired bibliophile settled her attention back onto the Bestiary. She’d been reading—or rather, attempting to read—the page describing Dodongos for the last five minutes. Her dorm mates’ arguing had made her eyes stutter across the page, retreading sentences and stumbling over half-translated words. According to the dense block of text concerning the dragon-like creatures, they could only be killed by tossing some sort of device into their mouths when they sucked in air to breathe fire. The word had been left completely untranslated, and the text around it did nothing to explain.

 _‘Darn it, maybe I should have asked Blue for help. He and the other Harrys seem to know more about this book than I do,’_ she thought with frustration. Too many words were left untranslated for her decipher anything meaningful from any of these articles! Furthermore, there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to what the spell had missed, so she couldn’t put together a translation key!

Frustrated, she flipped through the book in search of a single, decently-translated page. Romanized nonsense and lines of unreadable runes greeted her eyes. Hundreds of sheets of yellowed parchment, none more than half-intelligible, flew by. Hermione grumbled under her breath about dead languages and finicky translation spells. How was anyone to glean anything from the book if only a quarter of it was in English?

She reached the end of the “Legends” section and was surprised to find more pages. Hadn’t it ended after recounting the legend of the Hero of Time? That was what Blue had told her, once she’d pestered him enough.

With care brought on by curiosity, Hermione flipped through the new section. The pages here were lined like notebook paper, which she found bizarre. Since when had ancient peoples used lined paper?

“How old _are_ you?” she murmured, turning back to the start of the lined pages. She jerked back when she saw navy blue text begin scrawling across the first line:

“I set a spell on this book that lets me know how much time has passed. Let me check to see whether it still works...”

Hermione goggled at the neat cursive. The book had responded to her. It had written to her in _modern English_.

Crookshanks hissed at the book and ran off. Hermione looked from the direction he’d gone and back to the Bestiary, wondering whether he’d had the right idea.

She wanted to know exactly what she was dealing with, though, before she ripped it to bits and tossed it in the fire. “You must be cursed,” she whispered to it. “I bet you’re evil, like that diary. You want to possess me, don’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure I would know if this book had been cursed. I may only be using it as a medium to communicate with the Realm of the Living, but I’m aware of every spell that’s been cast on it.”

Hermione’s eyes went even wider. She looked around the room to make sure her roommates had left—luckily, they had—and then scooped the book up. “You’re a ghost?” she asked in a hushed voice. “How are you speaking to me through a book? _Why_? Who are you? Why didn’t Harry see these pages?”

“One question at a time, my dear. Even dead, I’m still old.” Rather than answer any of what Hermione had asked, the book paused before posing a question of its own. “Say, where and when am I? It’s been so long since anyone last came across this tome that I’ve lost track.”

A half-hysterical chuckle bubbled up from Hermione’s throat. “The year is nineteen ninety-three Anno Domini. You’re in Hogwarts castle, where I’m a student.” She paused. “I won’t tell you my name. I’ve heard enough stories to know there’s a lot of magic in a name.”

“That’s the right way to go. If you were thoughtless enough to give me your name outright, you’d never have been able to find these extra pages,” the person in the book wrote back. “To answer your very first question, my time-keeping spell tells me I’ve been in this book for twenty-five hundred years, give or take a few decades. It was five hundred years old by the time _I_ found it, though, so the fact that it’s still in one piece after three millennia is a testament to my Chief Magician’s prowess. I’m not certain how it wound up in this place, but I would call it a happy accident that it did. You couldn’t find a more accurate account of Hyrule than what’s in this tome. Granted, there’s a lot of hearsay in here—the Old Kingdom had a long history and not all of it was properly recorded—but it’s the most credible resource I could find. Trust me: I led the diving teams into the ruins of the old castle.”

“What? Hyrule is underwater?!” Hermione shunted her other questions to the back of her mind and dove for her book bag. Whipping out a Muggle notebook and a ballpoint pen she’d smuggled in from home, the girl prepared for a storm of notetaking. “At this point, I don’t care if you’re cursed. Tell me _everything_.”

“Well, to start off with, I learned this story from my grandmother, who was a brave, adventurous pirate by the name of ‘Tetra’. She died a rich woman after sailing those wretched, fishless seas in search of a place to found the new Hyrule…”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Harrys get a taste of what the next temple may hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter to set up stuff that will happen in a few chapters. You know how it goes. Since some people who follow the Zelda timeline may be wondering at this point when the story takes place, so I'll vaguely state that it's set in that giant gray area after the timeline convergence but before the Sheikah Civilization fell due to the first emergence of Calamity Ganon. I'm not being specific because I don't want to totally spoil the setting yet.

“How did Hermione vanish so fast after class? I didn’t get the chance to tell her to give me a turn with the book,” Blue whined. “I took it back, and then she _stole_ it from me! I only had it for two days!”

Harry rolled his eyes and Red was entirely unsympathetic. “You nicked it from her and she nicked it back. Seems fair to me,” the latter drawled.

“Stealing is never a good idea, Blue. I thought Uncle Vernon had taught us that,” Harry said. Lowering his voice, he asked, “You have all the same scars that I do, don’t you?”

“Yes, and don’t you remember that we snuck another sandwich two weeks later?” Blue replied with a wicked flash of teeth. “Now, where did Hermione go after Potions?”

“She’ll be in Defense Against the Dark Arts for sure, so it doesn’t matter.” Harry shrugged. Hermione wouldn’t have missed a class for the world. She was always there, always on time or early, and always prepared; it was a fact of life. “You can ask her—and I do mean _ask her_ —for the book after class.” He gave the boy a stern look. “It isn’t our book, anyway, so you shouldn’t be so possessive. _All_ of Gryffindor House should get the chance to read it.”

“They have! I’ve passed it around a few times,” Blue defended.

“Out of the past eight days, you’ve had it for six,” Harry said flatly. His more scholarly counterpart had spent every spare moment reading the Bestiary in his bed, a scroll of notes and a Self-Inking Quill set out beside him. It was only because the tome couldn’t be taken from Gryffindor Tower (though Blue had certainly tried) that the boy hadn’t had his nose buried in it constantly.

Yellow skipped out of the Potions classroom, having finally finished washing up. “Hi, guys! Whatcha talking about?”

“Blue’s obsessed with the beastie-book and he’s in a snit ‘cause Hermione took it back,” Red said, smirking at Blue when the boy puffed up indignantly.

“It’s a repository of untapped information!” Blue insisted. “No one can understand it better than us; not only are we the latest bearer of a Hylian hero’s blade, but we have someone on hand who _knows_ Hylian!” He gestured toward Harry.

“I can actually _read_ the book and I’m not half as crazy about it as you are,” Harry said. He had translated passages from the Bestiary several times at Blue’s request and read the parts he had deemed important on his own, but he was content to finish perusing the book at a comfortable pace. Blue, on the other hand, was determined to cram the entire thing into his brain at the soonest opportunity. He had an impatient, pushy thirst for knowledge; when he read a book, especially the Bestiary, he devoured it like a favorite food that might be snatched away at any moment. Harry didn’t understand his obsession over the Bestiary, and in fact found it to be rather un-Harry-like behavior. He couldn’t recall a single moment in his life when he’d been so fixated on a mere book. Escaping from Dudley’s gang, keeping his guardians relatively satisfied, and not starving had always been more important. Sitting around reading books unrelated to schoolwork had only ever given his relatives another excuse to call him lazy.

“Meatheads, all of you!” Blue huffed. He crossed his arms and scowled. “I can’t _believe_ you’d be so—”

He was interrupted by an unearthly shriek from a nearby corridor. The very air seemed to freeze as the horrible sound echoed off of the stone walls. Harry tried to suck in a breath, only to find his lungs wouldn’t respond. His body was paralyzed, held in place by a sense of death and instinctual fear. Though his inner primate screeched at him to flee, Harry could do nothing but lock his teeth together and wait for the spell to break.

The terrible magic mercifully faded after several seconds, and the Harrys slumped against the wall. “What the hell was that?” Red asked hoarsely.

“Probably a ReDead,” Blue said in a quavering murmur. His face was grayish and his arms shook so intensely that he folded them in an attempt to keep them still. “They’re like zombies, but _worse_.”

The boys all had to hold in a shriek themselves as, like twin bolts of lightning, Fred and George Weasley streaked down the corridor from the direction whence the banshee screech had come. They squealed to a stop in front of the Potions classroom, grabbed two Harrys each, and threw themselves into the room.

“Sorry, Harry,” one twin panted his brother slammed the door, “but those monsters were scarier than Snape on a bad day.”

“ _What_ monsters, pray tell?” a cold voice asked.

Harry cringed at the familiar oily hiss and then glanced up. Towering over him was Professor Snape, who appeared none too pleased to find two notorious troublemakers and four copies of his least favorite student crowded around the door.

“Hullo, Professor,” one twin said with false cheer. “There’re fireproof Inferi-things down the hall and ‘round the corner. Thought you’d like to know.”

“Inferi?” Snape’s coal-black eyes narrowed. “You must be mistaken. Those haven’t been seen since—”

“No, no.” The other twin flapped a hand. “They’re Inferi- _things_. Not Inferi.” He looked pointedly at Blue, who he’d hauled into the classroom. “We’d know what they were called, but we didn’t get a turn with the beastie-book.”

“Why does everyone insist on calling it that?” Blue grumbled.

Snape fixed him with a sneer. “Did your fawning caretakers neglect to teach you how to share?” he asked. “You could have gotten someone killed with your foolishness. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Harry sighed and exchanged a look with Red, whose sword-hand was twitching. “They’re called ReDeads,” he told Snape. The sooner the Great Bat was informed, the sooner they could escape his lair. “They’re reanimated corpses who use their screams to freeze people in place. Then they bite on those people’s heads to crack them open and get at their brains. The only way someone without a sacred sword or holy instrument can kill them is with bombs.”

The Weasley twins each raised an eyebrow. “Bombs, you say?” one asked with enthusiastic interest.

“Any other monsters those work on?” his brother inquired.

“Er, most of them, if you can time it—”

“Don’t give them ideas, Potter!” Snape barked, making Harry flinch. The Potions Master’s glittering eyes bore malevolently into the teenage boys who had intruded upon his domain. “If I see _any_ of you brewing potential explosives in my classroom, you can be assured that I’ll have you tossed out of Hogwarts faster than you can say _Evanesco_. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry and Yellow mumbled.

“Mm-hm,” Blue and Red grunted noncommittally.

“Okey-dokey!” the twins declared with matching salutes.

“Now go to class before I start taking points,” Snape snarled. He opened the door with an angry flick of his wand. “I’ll investigate these—” his upper lip curled, “—‘ReDeads’ on my own time.”

Glad to be free, Harry led the charge out of Snape’s classroom. Ugh, he _hated_ being around that infuriating man. The sound of the professor’s voice—soft, silky, and bladed with well-honed contempt—made Harry’s skin crawl.

“I think I want to punch him even more than I do Uncle Vernon,” Red growled. “The Walrus is just big, dumb, and loud. The Bat, on the other hand…” He trailed off and shook his head.

“He’s creepy, smart, and a petty bastard,” Blue described for him. “I’m just glad he didn’t take fifty points for Fred and George nearly losing their brains to Hylian zombies.”

One of the twins walked up and slung himself over Blue’s shoulder. “Nah, he wouldn’t take _fifty_. He loves us too much for that. Doesn’t he, Fred?”

“We’ve been pulling Es and Os in his class since first year, and we’ve blown it up on purpose at least once every term. He’d probably make it a nice, round hundred points in our memory,” Fred said proudly. “It’s how he shows he cares.”

“Speaking of caring, here’s some advice,” George said with more seriousness. “Don’t go past the Potions classroom when you’re exploring the dungeons.”

“The magic’s gone all funny down there. Makes you see things.” Fred looped a finger near his temple. “We almost got chomped on by those ReDeads because we fell through a wall that wasn’t there. They were downright friendly, though, after those ghosts with the masks.”

“Those buggers possessed us!”

“Flipped everything backwards, they did!”

The twins shared a grin. “It was wicked!” they both declared.

“But in an, er, dangerous-to-little-third-years kind of way,” Fred hastily added.

“Gave us plenty of ideas, though,” George said. His eyes twinkled with brewing mischief. “With that bomb tip you gave us and what we saw down there, we’ll have inspiration—”

“—and nightmares—”

“—for weeks!” George sobered somewhat after his exclamation. “Still, though, don’t go down there expecting a quick little adventure, ‘cause you’ll get your brains gnawed on by zombies.”

“Also, you might be stuck down there all day. We missed a whole double-session of History of Magic, and it wasn’t even on _purpose_ ,” Fred added. “We saw that something had changed using our, er…” He exchanged a glance with his twin. “…pranking magic, and decided to look into it during the back half of breakfast—”

“—and then we wandered in circles for three hours,” George finished with a shrug.

“Sometimes backwards, with the masked ghosts and all. Seriously, that was brilliant!”

“So, yeah, avoid the weird cave down the hall,” the two said, clapping Harry on the shoulders. “See you later!”

The twins waved a farewell to the Harrys and then sauntered off toward their next class while avidly discussing the mechanics of making a bomb that would reverse someone’s sense of direction. Harry weakly returned the wave, his mind spinning.

As soon as he’d heard the words “weird cave”, Harry had suffered a jolt of realization. The twins had found another dungeon, like that dark and bat-infested maze he and Red had stumbled into a week and a half ago. This one sounded completely different, though. He’d never seen a Re-Dead in the castle before (and technically still hadn’t), and he didn’t recall running into any masked ghosts who had disorientation magic. Whatever cave the Weasley twins had stumbled into and, miraculously, _out_ of, it wasn’t the same one the Harrys, Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy’s gang had gotten lost in. For one thing, it hadn’t even trapped the twins!

Blue appeared to have come to the same conclusion as Harry. “There’s more than one labyrinth in Hogwarts,” he announced. “We found one and the twins found another. There’s probably more than that, though there’s no way to know how many until people come across them.”

“Why didn’t they get stuck, though?” Yellow asked. He tilted his head to the side with his lips pursed. “We got lost for ages, and the only exit had a big, scary Keese-dragon in the way! How did Fred and George escape without having to go through what we did?”

“Maybe whatever spell Vaati cast on those caves only clamps down when we run into it,” Red said. He tapped the hilt of his sword, which stuck out behind his shoulder. “The twins got out because the curse didn’t care about them. The moment we walk in or anyone goes in with us, though—”

“—the curse senses Heroes and snaps the exits shut,” Harry mused. He liked that idea. It was something of a relief, to think there was a chance that no uninvolved students would wind up forever lost in some hellish cave. Now that he thought about it, wasn’t it awfully considerate of Vaati to keep the lethality of his monsters and death traps to a minimum? Maybe the flying eyeball wasn’t _completely_ terrible…for a villain with a god-complex, anyway.

“Draco would want to know about this,” Yellow said.

Harry nodded in agreement, recalling the look of determination on Malfoy’s face when he’d received Hermione’s neatly written team roster. The boy wasn’t enthusiastic about the dangers of adventure, but he was willing to endure the risk if he got treasure and one step closer to freedom in the end. It also helped that he kept a set of bodyguards (which now included Dog) around him when he walked the halls, lowering his personal level of risk.

“We can’t have him in our group if we’ve got Ron and Hermione with us. Ron would lose his mind,” Red pointed out.

“The four of us could pair up and go in with other people,” Yellow suggested. “That way, we can get through the dungeon faster with two groups and the separation headache won’t be as bad for us.”

“Good idea,” Blue complimented, prompting a happy smile from Yellow. “It worked just fine for us last time. Red and I can go with Malfoy’s lot, and Yellow and Green can accompany Ron and Hermione.”

“Why do we have to take Malfoy?” Red whined. “He’s a git!”

“Hermione and I are both good at figuring out puzzles, so there should be one of us on each team. You’re a fighter, Red, so you should be with Malfoy and me because we aren’t as great at leaping into danger as you are. Green is a less impulsive fighter, so he should balance Ron out. Yellow will go with that group because he can calm Ron and Hermione down if they get in a quarrel about something.” Blue held his hand out. “We’ll prepare for the next week and a half, and then we’ll dive in on the Saturday after this one. Is everyone on board?”

Harry shrugged and put his hand on top of Blue’s. It was a sound plan, and he was perfectly happy to let his inner Hermione take charge. Yellow put his hand on top of Harry’s, bouncing excitedly on his heels. It was as though he’d completely forgotten the danger they’d faced the last time and was simply looking forward to the new quest. Red joined the stack last, grumbling about babysitting bigots.

“Good! Now let’s get to Defense before class starts.” Blue took off running down the hall. “Come on, I saw a nest of Floormasters near the painting of Cockeyed Catherine!”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's boggart transforms into something else this time around. He'd probably rather it just turned into a Dementor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features me screwing with the original book timeline and changing the outcome of canon events because I'm more focused on making the main quest happen. The book's timeline is my salad, and I shall toss it as I please. Disclaimer for the paraphrasing and quoting done in the Boggart Scene: I do not own Harry Potter and the Prison of Azkaban and am only borrowing the characters and setting. Even though I have some Beef with JKR, she owns Harry Potter.
> 
> Content warning: Harry's relationship with the Dursleys, as well as their effect on his mindset, are the main topics of this chapter. Harry is not as okay as he thinks he is.

Spotting Peeves coming right for them, Yellow ducked and pulled Green with him. The poltergeist, who was busy clawing at his nose and swearing up and down the rainbow, didn’t take notice of the boys and continued down the hall.

“Thanks,” Green said faintly, staring at something over his shoulder. Yellow followed his surprised gaze to see Peeves hovering at the end of the hall and violently blowing his nose. One particularly emphatic honk sent the poltergeist spinning halfway around. Yellow snorted and had to clap his hands over his mouth to suppress a giggle.

“Is that…gum up his nose?” Blue asked. “I guess he really can be corporeal.”

“Now’s not the time to make up words, mate!” Red cried, sprinting past the rest of the group. “Our class is getting away!”

Indeed, their class was filing out of the Defense room and following Professor Lupin to another classroom. The Harrys, running as quietly as possible to avoid drawing the professor’s attention, joined the crowd. Blue immediately started worming his way to the front of the group. Yellow followed after him with a small sigh. He might have been too short to see over everyone’s heads, but he knew Hermione was likely right behind Professor Lupin. As fixated as Blue was on the Hogwarts Bestiary, Yellow didn’t doubt the boy would start some Drama (with a capital “D”) to get it back, even if the professor were right in front of him.

Sure enough, once he came upon the bushy-haired bookworm, Blue hissed, “Hermione, give it—!”

Yellow gripped his shoulder and tugged him into a half-hug. “You can ask her _nicely_ once we get back to Gryffindor Tower,” he hissed into Blue’s ear. He matched the suspicious look Hermione was shooting Blue with a sunny smile. “Silly Blue forgot we were in class,” he explained to her in a low voice. “Where are we going, anyway? Are we having a field trip?”

“The professor just said we were having a practical lesson. Wands only,” Hermione replied. “If it involves Cornish pixies, I’m ready for it.”

Professor Lupin led them to a long room with worn, wood-paneled walls and mismatched chairs scattered about. Most of the furniture had been shoved against the walls, clearing a path to the one remarkable object in the room.

A shabby wardrobe sat near the back wall. Yellow found the lack of chairs and tables around it peculiar until the wardrobe violently rattled. He squeaked in surprise and ducked behind Blue. What was trapped inside it, an angry Moblin?!

“It’s perfectly safe,” Professor Lupin assured his startled class. “There’s a boggart in there.”

Ron got a funny look on his face, as though he found the two statements paradoxical. A number of other students—Neville in particular—stared at the professor like he’d said something utterly mad.

“Though one would assume otherwise, the boggart isn’t trying to get out,” Professor Lupin told them. “They like dark, tight spaces like wardrobes, rarely-opened cabinets, underneath beds—I’ve even come across one that made its home in a grandfather clock.” He walked up to the wardrobe, completely at ease, and put a hand on its side. “A boggart decided to move in yesterday afternoon, and I made a request to let my third-years have a go at it before the Headmaster banished it.”

“Why would you do that?” Neville asked in a tiny whimper.

“So, do any of you know what a boggart is?” Professor Lupin asked, having not heard (or deciding to ignore) Neville’s question. “I understand that their definition can be a slippery one.”

Hermione and Blue fought to be the first to put up their hands. Blue even stood on tiptoe to put his higher than Hermione’s, a stubborn pout on his face. When Professor Lupin called on him instead of Hermione, he shot the girl a triumphant grin before declaring, “A boggart is a shape-shifter that takes the form of one’s greatest fear. It changes shape the moment anyone looks at it, so no one knows whether it has a natural form.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Professor Lupin said with a nod. “The boggart will assume the form most terrifying to the person looking at it. This gives us the advantage.” His tired brown eyes flicked over the crowd of anxious third-years. “Green, could you hazard a guess why?”

Green looked startled. He glanced at Blue and Hermione, who had their hands in the air, before stammering, “Er, because there are so many people looking at it? It’ll get confused, right?”

“Exactly,” the teacher replied. “When dealing with a boggart, always bring a friend. Not only is it practical, but it can have entertaining results. When the boggart gets confused, it has no idea what to turn into…”

A dark flicker caught Yellow’s eye, distracting him from Professor Lupin’s ongoing lecture. He scanned the back left corner of the room, which was somehow unlit by the magical light that evenly illuminated the rest of the space. Shadows clung unnaturally to the scuffed wooden panels and threadbare rug. He squinted suspiciously at them. Hmm.

“…You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter,” the professor was saying. Yellow focused back on Professor Lupin, though he watched the shadows out of the corner of his eye. “What you need to do is force it to assume a shape you can laugh at. We’ll practice the charm without wands first, so you get a feel for it.” Lupin raised his hand as though it held an imaginary wand, and his class did the same. “After me, please…Riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” the students parroted.

“Yes, that’s it. Now comes the more difficult part. Now for someone to start us off…Aha!” The professor beckoned to Neville. “Here is where you come in, Neville.”

The boy stepped forward. He looked as though he wanted to protest, but was too scared to make his mouth work. Yellow was tempted to run up and hug him. Poor Neville really needed one.

Neville wobbled toward the wardrobe, his face the color of cottage cheese.

“Now that you’re here, Neville, what would you say is your greatest fear?” Lupin asked.

Neville made a squeaky noise, like a deflating balloon.

A spark of mischief lit up the professor’s faded brown eyes. “Sorry, didn’t catch that,” he said cheerily.

Looking as though he dearly wished a Floormaster would rise from the dusty carpet and whisk him away, Neville whispered, “Professor Snape.”

There were only a few giggles. Had the Gryffindors not seen Snape after Neville’s Keese-infused potion had gone off like a stick of dynamite, more of them might have laughed. Neville’s pinched features relaxed by a millimeter or so.

Professor Lupin had taken Neville’s confession in stride and appeared thoughtful. “You live with your grandmother, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes?” Neville said slowly, clearly wondering what this had to do with anything. “I’d rather the boggart didn’t turn into her, either.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Professor Lupin wore a smile reminiscent of the Weasley twins’. “Could you tell us what your grandmother usually wears?”

“Well, er…”

A movement in the shadows drew Yellow’s attention away again. What was that? If it had been a Keese, it would have fluttered out and started diving at people already. Whatever was hiding there, it was patient. He drilled the shadows with his gaze while Professor Lupin talked Neville through how he would deal with the boggart. Something was watching them, and he wanted to know what.

A pair of yellow eyes, uncannily similar to his own, appeared in the shadows. He gasped and jerked back just as the doors of the wardrobe opened with a loud bang.

Yellow found himself dragged backward by a hand on his shoulder as Snape stalked out of the wardrobe and toward a trembling Neville. The professor looked like he had after his classroom had been spectacularly blown up, his face contorted in rage and his robes billowing like storm clouds.

Neville retreated a few steps, shaking harder than ever, as the false Snape swooped down on him. After four steps, he seemed to brace himself and then stammered, “R-R-Riddikulus!”

With a loud, sharp “crack!” Snape stumbled. His intimidating black robes had been replaced by a lace-trimmed dress the color of pea soup. Upon his greasy locks sat a peculiar hat featuring a stuffed vulture, and an oversized crimson handbag now swung from his wrist.

Yellow was too unsettled to join in the laughter prompted by the boggart’s unintentional transformation. While Professor Lupin called up the next student, he turned to see who had pulled him safely away from the boggart.

Concerned brown eyes stared back at him. “You okay, Harry?” Ron asked. “I saw you get spooked by something before Lupin opened the wardrobe. What was it?”

“Er, it was…” Yellow noticed that the strange film of shadows had peeled away from the wall, leaving nothing unusual to show it had ever been there. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. No point in worrying his friend now, especially when they were fighting a monster that was only vulnerable to laughter.

Seamus was currently up, fighting a banshee. The creature opened her mouth, filling the room with a painful inhuman shriek, not unlike that of a ReDead. Her wail was cut off when Seamus’s spell made her go hoarse.

“Have you thought about what you’re most afraid of?” Ron asked as they watched Dean catch his greatest fear—a severed hand—in a mousetrap. “You already know mine. It’s spiders.”

“I don’t know,” Yellow admitted. There were a lot of things he was afraid of. Voldemort was one, though that fear had lessened since the battle at the end of first year. The basilisk was another, though the horrible snake was thankfully dead. Then there was the Dementor…

He shuddered, imagining the creature’s rotting, slimy hands and tattered cloak. Like it was a corpse still wrapped in a death shroud...He remembered an aura of death and despair, the screams echoing in his ears as the ability to breathe escaped him—

But there weren’t any more Dementors guarding the school, were there? He hadn’t even seen them floating around beyond the barrier that encased Hogwarts. Was he even likely to see another one of those things, given that they usually guarded Azkaban? As often as Snape, Filch, and his relatives insisted he was a troublemaker, he was no criminal-to-be.

Alright, Dementors were possibly out of the running, then. What did he have a deep, dedicated fear of like Ron did with spiders? He honestly couldn’t think of anything.

Ron was called up, and the boggart became a spider as tall as Snape. Bristling with spiky hair, the Acromantula advanced on Ron. Venom oozed from its long fangs, an acid green fluid that hissed when it dripped on the floor. Ron looked up at it with wide, terrified eyes. He wasn’t the only one; several students had pressed themselves against the walls, as far as they could get from the beast. After several seconds of standing frozen, Ron leveled his wand at the spider and roared, “Riddikulus!”

The spider’s legs vanished and it hit the ground with enough force to send a tremor through it. Disoriented, the boggart began rolling around erratically. Lavender, who had surprisingly not fled from the spider along with most everyone else, screamed and leapt out of the way before the limbless arachnid could bowl her over.

Yellow edged back as the boggart came for him and sighed in relief when it stopped at his feet. In his peripheral vision, he saw Professor Lupin lunge for it. He frowned in confusion as he readied his wand. What was the professor so worried about?

Before Professor Lupin could get between Yellow and the shape-shifter, the boggart changed forms with the sound of a whip-crack. A bristling moustache and purpling, puffy cheeks replaced the spider’s fangs and pedipalps. Uncle Vernon stood in front of him, larger than life. Tremors shook Yellow’s slight frame as he looked up and up and up, his eyes taking in the meaty fists and sausage-like fingers, huge arms, and expression of nail-spitting rage. He felt like a five-year-old who’d committed the unspeakable crime of sneaking a chicken leg from the fridge.

He didn’t want to get locked in the cupboard again!

Yellow backed away, knowing from years of experience that he had to get out of reach before he started pleading. “U-Uncle Vernon, I’m s-sorry—”

“Yellow!” Hermione’s worried shout snapped the boy out of his terrified trance.

Boggart! He was facing a boggart, not his uncle. Muggles couldn’t even see Hogwarts, and a man like Uncle Vernon wouldn’t have come within a kilometer of the place even if it weren’t hidden under an illusion.

Now realizing the true situation, Yellow scrambled for an idea before the boggart made a move for him. What was funny? How could he make Uncle Vernon funny?

The mustache quivering under the boggart’s nose gave him an idea. “Riddikulus!” he shouted. There was another whip-crack, and then a very confused walrus sat where Uncle Vernon had previously stood.

“Very good, Harry!” Lupin called. Yellow noticed that the man looked more frazzled than usual. “Neville, finish it off!”

Neville rushed forward, his wand at the ready and his round face set with determination. “Riddikulus!” Neville cried. Snape appeared for a split-second, dressed in Lady Longbottom’s eclectic wardrobe, before Neville barked out a laugh. The boggart exploded into a thousand wisps of silvery smoke that then faded to nothing.

The class breathed a relieved sigh and then burst into applause. Students broke away from the walls and congregated around Neville, some of them clapping him on the back.

“Excellent work, everyone!” exclaimed, Professor Lupin. “Especially you, Neville. Very well done. Now, as for points…five to Gryffindor for each person who faced their fears—ten to Neville for doing it twice—and five to Harry Potters Blue and Green.”

Yellow couldn’t bring himself to feel happy about getting points. He could only see Uncle Vernon’s plum-colored face and balled fists. All of the other Harrys were going to be furious with him—he knew it. No one was supposed to know about how the Dursleys acted toward him. Every time he’d tried to tell someone about it, the Dursleys had made him out to be a liar and then treated him even worse. He’d just condemned himself and his brothers to a summer of hell!

“Thank you for that wonderful demonstration, all of you. For homework, I’d like you to read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it to be handed in on Monday. That will be all…” He motioned to Yellow before the boy turned toward the door. “…except for you. May I have a word with you, Yellow?”

A sudden urge to cry seized Yellow. He bit down hard on his lower lip. Everything was ruined and it was his fault!

“What did you want to want to talk about?” a more confident version of his voice asked. Yellow looked up, a hopeful smile forming on his lips at the sight of Red standing with him. The other Harrys were there as well—Blue with his hands on his hips and Green wearing a serious frown.

Professor Lupin didn’t object to the presence of the other Harrys. “It occurs to me that I know nothing of your home situation,” he remarked.

“Dumbledore said that was to protect me from Voldemort,” Green said shortly. He crossed his arms. “Why do you want to know about it?”

“Your brother’s greatest fear is a man he called ‘Uncle Vernon’,” Professor Lupin said. It sounded like a condemnation to Yellow’s ears. He’d failed to keep the big secret.

Red looped an arm around Yellow and pulled him close. Yellow leaned in, feeling stupid for acting like a little kid but comforted all the same.

“He’s big and loud, and he’s always been that way. He scared us when we were younger,” Blue said with a forced shrug. “So what?”

“You’re thirteen, not a small child, and he’s what Yellow fears most,” said the professor. “I find that telling.”

Uh-oh. Now Lupin sounded like the school nurse who’d found bruises under Harry’s sleeve. A week later, she’d been fired and Harry had been locked up in the cupboard from Friday afternoon to Monday morning with only two bathroom breaks and one piece of bread a day. That had gone on for four weekends, until Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had found something else to punish him for.

“I’m just a ‘fraidy cat!” Yellow burst out. “Ask any of us! It’s the other three who got all our confidence, not me.”

“Yellow, you saw Neville’s boggart, didn’t you?” Professor Lupin asked kindly. “Would you say that his fear is unfounded, or that he’s just a ‘‘fraidy cat’?”

“Well…no, ‘cause that would be mean and Snape is actually kinda scary. Especially to Neville,” Yellow mumbled. “He almost poisoned Neville’s toad today in Potions. He was going to feed Neville’s potion to Trevor even if it was messed up.”

A dark expression crossed Professor Lupin’s face before it was replaced by a gentle smile of encouragement. “See? He has a legitimate reason to be afraid of Professor Snape. I believe you have a very real reason to be afraid of your uncle, beyond a mere lack of confidence.”

“If you look into this, you’d better not tell the Dursleys,” Red said. “You’ll get us into trouble, and you aren’t the one who has to spend the summer with them.”

Professor Lupin frowned. “…I see. Well, then, I’ll be discreet.”

0 0 0 0 0

Ron was feeling very left out of the loop. He’d had this vaguely unpleasant sense for a little while now—since Harry had been split into four, in fact. While he knew there were times when he could come off as thick, he could be observant when he was motivated to be. The four Harrys were keeping the same secret that the original Harry had been keeping since Ron had met him; the only difference was that the multiple Harrys had a habit of speaking their internal monologue aloud.

Since first year, Ron had known Harry didn’t get along with his family. Harry never mentioned them, for one thing. If anyone brought them up, Harry was quick to change the subject. There had been signs pointing toward mutual dislike over the years—a toothpick for Christmas here, an offhand comment there. The most memorable of these was the set of bars that had been over Harry’s window when he and his brothers had rescued him from Privet Drive in their father’s flying car. Why would the Dursleys have put bars over Harry’s window? He’d never really thought about it before, but it was kind of scary when he stopped to consider the implications; he and the twins had gone there to rescue Harry from boredom, but had they been saving him from more than that?

And now there was a new, even more disturbing sign: Yellow’s boggart. He’d been shocked to see the same unpleasant, mustachioed man whom he’d seen picking up Harry from the train station at the end of the school year. The boggart’s version of him had been over two meters tall, his face an unnatural shade of plum and his fists oversized, but he’d been recognizable as the same man. Even more, Yellow had actually called him “Uncle Vernon”.

Why was Yellow so scared of his uncle? Ron couldn’t fathom being afraid of a member of his family. Families loved each other, didn’t they? Not even the most unpleasant of his relatives, with their habits of drunkenly railing about politics or going on at length about how great his older brothers were, came close to frightening him.

Harry and Yellow walked into the dorm room, speaking to one another in lowered voices and snickering. Upon seeing Ron, Harry explained, “Blue’s trying to get into the girls’ dorm to steal the Bestiary back. Red’s standing at the bottom of the stairs to laugh at him.”

Had he been any less consumed with worry, Ron would have gladly gone to watch Blue’s futile struggles. As it was, though, he put on a Hermione-like frown and asked, “Are you okay, Harry?”

The two Harrys gave him identical confused looks. “Yeah. The boggart didn’t hurt us, and those Octoroks that ambushed us during Care of Magical Creatures got squashed by Hagrid before we could get hit,” the green-eyed one said.

“I didn’t know you could slay monsters by stomping on their heads! I wish we were big enough to do that,” Yellow mused wistfully. “I bet Dog could do it if he wanted. He’s a big boy.”

Ron’s frown almost broke into a smile, but he held it together. “No, it’s not about that. I was wondering why your boggart looked like your uncle.”

The atmosphere of the room suddenly went cold. “Professor Lupin already interrogated us about this,” Harry said flatly. “It was nothing. Yellow just had a scary nightmare about Uncle Vernon a little while ago and the boggart picked up on it. It’s not something you need to worry about.”

“One nightmare doesn’t turn your uncle into the absolute scariest thing you can think of,” Ron argued. “I mean, I’ve had a couple of nightmares about gnomes dragging me into their burrows, but my boggart didn’t turn into one of those. You’re scared of your uncle. Why? What did he do to you?”

Harry crossed his arms and kept his lips firmly pressed together. Yellow, on the other hand, looked like the truth was going to come leaping from his mouth whether or not he wanted it to. The boy bounced on the balls of his feet and refused to make eye contact with Ron or Harry. He bit his lower lip hard, putting his hand to his mouth every few seconds like he was tempted to hold it shut.

“I-I…” Yellow screwed his eyes shut. “I saw Shadow Harry in Defense Class!” he burst out. “He was watching us! I don’t know why, but he was hiding in the corner!”

The non-sequitur derailed Ron’s train of thought. “What? Shadow Harry?” Ron asked dumbly. “Yellow, what’re you talking about? What’s this got to do with—?”

“Shadow Harry? You mean that bloke who showed up after I pulled the sword out?” Harry asked.

Ron attempted to get things back on track. “Harry, that’s not what—”

“Yeah, it was him,” Yellow said. He glanced guiltily toward Ron. “I saw his eyes—like mine, but glowy and kind of greenish.”

“Have you seen anything like that before?” Harry inquired. “Do you know if that’s the first time he’s spied on us?”

“If he’s done it before, I didn’t spot him,” Yellow said. Edging toward the door, he asked, “Er, shouldn’t we tell Red and Blue? And Hermione?”

“Yes, definitely.” Harry hooked his arm around Yellow and then hustled them both out of the room.

Ron was left staring at the departing boys’ backs. _‘What’s wrong, Harry? Why won’t you tell me?’_ he thought sadly. _‘Aren’t I your best friend?’_


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's boggart leads to some interesting conversations, an attempt is made to craft an ancient magic system, and Shadow Harry gets to borrow the POV for a hot second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to have to edit this chapter later because I tacked on 900 words at the last minute and then decided to make up worldbuilding that I'll have to keep consistent throughout the fic. After this chapter, I'm going to raise the rating of this fic to T for violence and, uh...mild horror. Next chapter is going to be a doozy and the second temple is shaping up to be a bit more gruesome than a G-rating entails. Content warning for mentions of Harry's abusive upbringing and for the bomb threat at the end. Shadow Link in FSA is incredibly bomb-happy and this fic is set in a school, so it's a bit of an unfortunate overlap, but it's happening next chapter.

“Potter, about that boggart—”

“Malfoy, if you ask me why it was my uncle, I _will_ thump you,” Blue growled. He lifted his Potions textbook to back up the threat.

The blond raised his hands. “Touchy, aren’t we? I was only going to tell you that rumors have been making their rounds,” he said. “The most popular respectively claim that your relatives are trolls, you’re much less brave than your reputation makes you sound, and your uncle has hurt you in a way that makes you fear him.” He crossed his arms and huffed, “Only muggleborns and half-bloods are daft enough to entertain the last option, of course. Everyone knows that no parents or guardians would harm the child under their care—not even Muggles. Children are too rare and precious for that.”

Blue smirked and put his textbook away. “Aww, you’re adorable,” he cooed. “When you aren’t spouting off about ‘Mudbloods’ this and ‘Muggles’ that, anyway.”

“Ha, very funny,” Malfoy drawled. “And are you implying that the muggleborns and half-bloods of Hogwarts know something that I don’t?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“But I’ve got connections! I know what they know!” Malfoy’s miffed expression wouldn’t have looked out-of-place on a toddler.

“If all your ‘connections’ have never set foot outside of Magical Britain, there’s a whole _world_ of things they—and you—don’t know,” Blue informed him. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, though.”

The blond frowned. “You aren’t backing out of the trip this Saturday, are you? We’ll only get lost and stuck if we don’t have you four with us, and I put a lot of work into—”

“No, no, the trip is still on,” Blue assured him. “It’s just that something was brought to our attention yesterday, during our session with Professor Lupin.”

“What, that the man can’t dress himself?” Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “Honestly, I’ve seen house elves with better taste.”

“Malfoy, don’t make me smack the pompousness out of you.”

“Fine, tell me whatever you saw. Other than Lupin’s rags and that _intriguing_ boggart of yours, I mean.”

“There’s another Harry—one who isn’t a part of the sword’s curse,” Blue began. “He’s Vaati’s minion. You’ve met him before; he set that huge Keese on us.”

“I was wondering why that voice sounded so familiar,” Malfoy said. “What does this extra Potter have to do with anything?”

“Yellow saw him spying on our class,” Blue told him. “We have no way of knowing whether that’s the first time Shadow Harry has done something like that, so there’s no telling how many conversations he’s been privy to.”

Malfoy appeared only mildly perturbed. “While that may cause us difficulties, it’s not like there was much sensitive information being thrown about during our discussions,” he pointed out. “We don’t trust each other enough to hand out secrets. Even during our quest-specific talks, there wasn’t much for a spy to hear. I know how well you Potters think on your feet, so I calculated your ‘wing it’ factor into our plans.”

“Meaning that we barely have any.”

“You’ve managed to ruin the _Dark Lord’s_ plans at least twice. I’m not going to jinx myself by coming up with tactics you’re only going to ignore.”

Blue shrugged. “Eh, fair enough. I’d probably get the urge to foul things up out of spite, anyway.”

His bluntness prompted an annoyed huff from the Slytherin. “How is it that Potter’s most clever, devious side still manages to be stupidly honest?”

“A reputation for honesty is the best way to guard one’s secrets.”

“That is…actually a good idea,” Malfoy said with slow realization. “I never even considered that.” He regarded Blue appraisingly. “Does this mean Harry Potter, Golden Boy of Gryffindor, may have a potential scandal he’s hiding?”

“Not the kind you’d like to take advantage of,” Blue was quick to say. The blond had a crafty look on his face that set Blue’s nerves on edge. “Certainly not like that Parseltongue debacle last year. If anything, it’d only get the magical public even _more_ infatuated with me.”

“Really? Then why not take advantage?”

“I never wanted to be famous.” He, Harry Potter, had wanted to be loved, appreciated, or at least treated like a human being by his family, but he’d never wished to be idolized by anyone. “So, have you seen anything interesting since the last time we talked? Did your minions find any new secret areas?”

Malfoy grimaced. “Zabini did. He led his group into a nest of Skulltulas by mistake. One of them put a fang _through_ Blaise’s wrist, and he’s still in the Hospital Wing from the venom. The stuff is as magic-proof as the blasted spiders themselves, apparently.”

Though Blue didn’t really know Blaise Zabini, he winced in sympathy. Skulltulas were armored, Acromantula-sized spiders whose venom caused partial paralysis and burning agony. They had begun appearing in some of the darker nooks and crannies of Hogwarts, dropping down from the ceiling to attack anyone who walked too close. So far, no one had been able to find a spell that didn’t bounce off the spiders’ hard shells. “Send him my best wishes,” he told Malfoy.

“I will, once he’s conscious.” A small divot formed between his pale brows. “Do you think it’s what we did that’s been causing these new monsters to appear?”

“Going through those caves, you mean?” Blue stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It’s possible. If Shadow Harry warned Vaati to take us more seriously after we beat his flaming bat, he may have decided to raise the level of danger at Hogwarts.”

“Why not go all-out from the start?” Malfoy asked.

“He might have more limited magic than we think,” Blue said. “If he were a god already, he wouldn’t be bragging in my dreams about how he’s going to become one, would he? He must have some kind of cap on his power, otherwise he would have turned this country into his kingdom by now.”

“Hylian magic is immune to most any attempts to counter it, though. Not even the house elves can get through or break the wards, and their magic is some of the strongest there is. What could possibly be staying Vaati’s hand?”

A fiery intensity entered Blue’s eyes. “ _Excellent_ question,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. His quick mind called up a list of books to read, sections of the library to look into, and plans to pry the Hylian Bestiary from Hermione’s determined grasp.

“Potter, what are you smiling about?” Malfoy asked uneasily.

“Researching the weaknesses of ancient magic, of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? I should have been looking into this all along!” Blue exclaimed. He clapped Malfoy on the shoulder and then dashed out of the trophy room to fetch a study partner.

* * *

Hearing a soft “fshoo!” of expelled air, Hermione swung the large book she’d been reading. The tome’s hard cover connected with the rock that had been hurtling toward her and knocked the stone back the way it had come. The Octorok that had spat it squealed when the projectile smacked into its flank.

“That’s what you get for attacking me,” Hermione said as she watched the monster vanish in a puff of smoke. She opened the book she’d defended herself with to its last section of pages. “I’m sorry for that,” she said to the yellowed leaves of parchment. “It’s just that I’ve been shot so many times by those creatures that I’ve gotten a reflex for hitting back.”

“This book is nigh indestructible, my dear. Don’t worry about doing it harm,” the woman within the Bestiary assured her. “Nice timing, by the way.”

Hermione smiled at the compliment. “Thank you!”

"Now, as I was saying, Hylian magic isn't as easy as saying a spell and flicking your wand. It's something that's built up in layers and imbued upon an object. Most Hylian magic depends upon prior preparation and enchantment, rather than spur-of-the-moment spellcasting. It calls for instruments less multi-purpose than those your people favor," said Spirit, as the ghost had bid Hermione call her. "The most similar objects we had to what your culture uses are staffs and crystal balls, so I'd say we should start from there. Though a crystal ball is much easier to make, your distrust of Divination would make one of those rather useless to you, so I'd suggest enchanting a staff as your first project. A staff takes a high degree of magical power to create, but you have more than enough. A basic enchantment to create a spell-channeling stick similar to your wand shouldn't be too difficult."

Hermione added this to her "Spirit Notebook", which contained all the lore and knowledge she'd gathered from the helpful ghost so far. "Does the staff have to be made from the same wood as my wand?" the girl asked. "What do I do for its core?"

"The material of the handle doesn't matter. You could pick up a household broom and make it work if you wanted to," Spirit replied. "It's the crystal that makes the magic rod, my dear. And the hours you spend chanting over it, but the enchantments won't mean anything if you lay them on the wrong kind of rock."

"The crystal…" Hermione wrote this and circled it. "What kind of crystal?"

"Quartz is best for general spells, although it takes more power on the mage's end to make it work. As a general rule, Hylian magic gets stronger with greater specificity; the more different uses something is meant to have, the more the user has to burn their own magic to boost the power. Matching a certain rock to a certain field of spellcasting will make the staff itself pack more of a punch and take less energy out of you. The trade-off is that stones used for specific magics are rare and the spells one lays upon those crystals are complex, exhausting, and can take days of constant chanting to get right," wrote Spirit. "I'm not sure whether you'll come across these during your quest, but the Ice Rod and Fire Rod are excellent examples of focused magic at work. Each will only cast one type of spell, but they can work even for non-magical people because purposes imbued upon their stones are so narrow."

"Did your culture interpret stones the same way as mine? Rubies for fire, sapphires for water, et cetera?"

"I'm unsure. We didn't have the same names for stones as your people do, or even the same stones at all," Spirit answered. "With some, a connection between colors was enough to give a channeling crystal the ability to greater focus an enchantment's purpose. With others, such as Moon Pearls, the rocks had an inherent power that one had to work with, lest they explode in one's face." The scrolling blue cursive paused thoughtfully. "Actually, if you ever get a taste for Divination, I'd suggest asking one of your Hero friends to find a Moon Pearl for you. Bearers of the holy swords have historically had an association with such artifacts, and they're legendary for their use as crystal balls."

"Divination is pure rubbish, Spirit. You'd know that if you'd suffered through even one of Trelawney's so-called 'lessons'," Hermione sniffed. The mere thought of that bug-eyed woman's incense-choked classroom and the overdramatic fluttering of her spidery hands made Hermione's jaw clench and something unpleasant twist in her chest. Nothing irked her more than those who dispensed false information. Even Lockhart, as pretty and prolific a writer as he was, had earned a high space on her blacklist for his betrayal of the teaching profession (and his actions against her friends). "A staff is definitely best, so how do I make one? I'd like to start learning as soon as possible."

“First you need a smooth, straight stick at least as long as your forearm and thick enough to hold comfortably,” Spirit began. “If you have the money and arm-strength, I’d suggest using metal instead of wood. As for the crystal—”

A nasal voice marked by an upper-class drawl assaulted Hermione’s ears. “Granger. Fancy meeting you all the way out here.”

Hermione squeaked in fright and snapped the Bestiary shut. The loud clap of its colliding pages startled several nearby birds into flight. Whipping her head around, she saw Malfoy standing a short distance from her rocky perch with Dog at his heels. Malfoy wore an amused sneer, while Dog gave her a goofy smile with his tongue lolling out.

“Er, good a-afternoon, Malfoy,” she stammered. As she spoke, her hands fumbled to stow the Bestiary in her schoolbag. “I decided to go for a walk after Herbology, since it was my last class today. What brings you to the edge of the Forbidden Forest?”

“Curiosity.” Malfoy peered around her. “Say, Granger, how did you take that book from the Gryffindor dorm? Not even Blue Potter could do that; he’s whined to me about it before.”

“I asked nicely,” Hermione answered truthfully. “Have you ever tried it?”

The boy gave a haughty laugh. “A Malfoy doesn’t _need_ to.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not needing to doesn’t mean you shouldn’t,” she chided, though she knew he’d ignore any and all advice from a muggleborn out of spite. “If you’re so curious, what did you want to speak to me about? I’ve made sure we’re on different teams for the expedition tomorrow, you know—put it on the schedule and everything.”

“It isn’t that.” He waved a hand. “I wanted to speak with you about the current rumor mill.” His mouth twisted in an ugly way. “While I generally don’t consort with… _your_ lot, I’ve been made aware that my contacts might be missing some background information due to their upbringing. I was wondering if you could… _illuminate_ some things.” As an afterthought, he spat out, “Please.”

Hermione’s eyebrows lifted. Malfoy was coming to her, not to tease her about her teeth or her hair or her parentage, but for information? This was definitely new. And he was trying, somewhat, to speak like a normal human being. It was rather pitiful, how much he was visibly struggling to be civil. He was _trying_ , though, bless his wicked heart. “Alright, then,” she said, deciding to humor him. “What needs illumination?”

“In the Muggle world, is it common for guardians to treat their children badly?” Draco asked with a note of hesitation. “There is a rumor that Potter has been mistreated by his guardians to the point of fear. Do Muggles have so little love for their heirs?”

Hermione sucked in a breath through her nose and pressed her lips together to hold back a retort. _‘He was raised by followers of Voldemort. He doesn’t know any better,’_ she reminded herself. The boy wasn’t actively being mean, she could tell; he was just putting his foot in his mouth, like Harry said he had on the train in first year. She knew from experience what Malfoy actively being cruel was like. “Some people— _not_ just Muggles, but magical people as well—were never meant to be parents or guardians. Unfortunately, a number of those people _are_ parents or guardians,” she explained. If any of her words managed to stick, then maybe the sheltered brat would learn something today. “Because Muggles are unable to do magic, they’ve applied themselves to studying the world around them instead. That’s why they know more about things like child abuse than magical people. They look more closely at how things work than you do.”

“And…Potter’s ‘Uncle Vernon’ is one of these unfit guardians, as the rumors say?” Malfoy asked. “If so, why does Potter live with him? Wizarding families would start _feuds_ to have the privilege of caring for the Boy Who Lived!”

“He lives with the Dursleys because they’re his only family.”

Malfoy gave her a withering look. “If you’d spent this past week paying _attention_ instead of hiding from one of your precious few friends, you’d know Potter and I are relatives.”

Had Hermione been drinking something, she would have choked on it. “ _You_ are Harry’s relative?!” she spluttered. She briefly imagined Harry with slicked-back hair, neatly pressed robes, and shiny black shoes, one of the younger Malfoy’s nasty smiles on his lips as Lucius Malfoy put a proud hand on his shoulder. “Oh my. That’s…well, it’s news,” she awkwardly said in lieu of something far less polite. So long as Malfoy was trying, she’d do the same. “You aren’t going to have your father file for custody, are you?”

The boy crossed his arms. “Once the corrupted wards around the school lift, I’m sending him an owl,” he declared. With a smirk heavy with condescension, he asked, “What’s it to you, Granger? Afraid I’ll make a Slytherin of him?”

Hermione’s internal panic allowed her to shake off his vile tone of voice. “No, I’m more concerned that Harry wouldn’t take it well,” she said with a worried frown. She would have liked to shout, “Harry would sooner die than live with Dark wizards!” but she kept those words locked up tight for now. “I’m not sure whether you know this, but your father gave Ginny Weasley a cursed book that tried to suck out her soul last year,” she said instead. “Harry nearly died fighting the spirit in the book and its pet basilisk to save Ginny’s life. He thinks your father is pure evil, Malfoy.” Silently, she added, _‘And so do the rest of us.’_

To her satisfaction, the blond aristocrat visibly deflated, a look of surprise on his face. “He did what, now? I heard about the basilisk and the Weasel girl getting sick, but not about this.”

“Remember at Flourish and Blotts last year, how your father and Mr. Weasley got into that awful row?” she asked. “Well, just after that, he slipped an old journal infused with terrible magic into Ginny’s cauldron. It started possessing her and making her commit all those ‘Heir of Slytherin’ pranks and petrifications that Harry got blamed for.” She gazed solemnly at Malfoy. “Your father tried to murder a _first-year_ , and Harry’s never going to get over that.”

Though Malfoy was doing his best to appear unflappable, Hermione could tell the news had shaken him. “I’m sure Father had his reasons, if that story ever happened at all,” the boy snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He reached out to the side in a motion that didn’t appear entirely conscious, and Dog moved his head under the boy’s hand to let Malfoy pet him. “Well, then, I figure I’ve humored you long enough,” he sniffed once he’d gotten his aura of aristocratic aloofness hitched back into place. “I’m off to find more proper company.” He executed a smart turn and strode off toward the castle.

Dog didn’t immediately follow him. He glanced at Hermione, rolled his eyes, and then gestured toward Malfoy’s retreating back with his nose.

Hermione was puzzled by the dog’s (or Crup’s?) oddly intelligent behavior, but took it in stride. After all, what she’d read about Crups in the _Monster Book of Monsters_ hadn’t specified how smart the magical breed was, so Dog might have been quasi-sapient for all she knew. She flashed him a sympathetic smile. “You should have seen him last year,” she told Dog in a low voice. “He was the most awful brat I’d ever met. If he were acting like that right now, I’d have hexed him. It’s sad that this is an improvement, but it really is.”

The dog snorted at this and shook his head. With a canine grin toward Hermione, he loped after his owner.

Hermione watched Malfoy and his pet go, her mood sinking into a mire of worry as she went over the unusually civil conversation she’d just had with her former schoolyard enemy.

She honestly hadn’t thought much of Harry’s boggart while she’d been caught up with avoiding Blue and learning from Spirit. While she’d been concerned when Yellow had frozen for a moment when facing down his illusory uncle, she hadn’t been too shocked to see his greatest fear was an angry relative. Though she hadn’t faced the boggart herself, she knew her greatest fear was failure—not just academic, but any sort of failure to succeed. She would have seen her parents, furious and brandishing disownment papers, or maybe Professor McGonagall giving her a Snape-like sneer as she handed back a viciously marked-up essay bearing a red “T” at the top. Indeed, knowing (or at least assuming) that Harry’s fear was similar to her own had been a little reassuring.

Now it seemed she might have jumped to the wrong conclusion. Like many loved children, she had believed that Harry had also grown up with people who loved him, or at least took proper care of him. She had noticed the friction between him and his relatives and brushed it off as nothing too out-of-the-ordinary. After all, who would ever mistreat such a good-hearted, selfless boy?

Harry’s own relatives, apparently—or at least his uncle.

Her memory, nearly flawless and ever-helpful, called up mental images of everything she’d seen and ignored that had probably been a warning sign. Harry’s unusually small stature, the faint but shiny scars around his hands, the visibility of his bones beneath his skin...Oh, she was so oblivious! Clearly, having the highest grades in her year meant nothing when it came to intelligence.

“I need to find a teacher!” Hermione declared, hopping to her feet. She needed to run and tell Professor McGonagall her suspicions right away. Being a Head of House, the professor could surely do something to help Harry.

* * *

Shadow Harry hung in the shade cast by the wizard who bore his curse. He’d been meaning to follow up on that, and now that he was busy finding excuses to put off his boss's latest orders, he was happy to do so. The wizard had taken the curse pretty well, all things considered. Sure, that was partly because Shadow Harry had made him forget he'd ever been human, but he honestly seemed happier and more well-fed than he’d been when he’d wandered into Vaati’s first construction project. He was lucky Shadow Harry had just cursed him and locked him up for the Heroes to find rather than kill him like Vaati had ordered.

Shadow Harry’s frowned grimly despite the peaceful scene of relaxing children around him. Vaati had ordered him to kill anyone that entered his patchwork dungeons if the monsters and traps didn’t prove to be enough. And then he’d ordered Shadow Harry to place monsters and traps outside those dungeons to kill anyone that strayed too close to the entrances. And then he’d ordered Shadow Harry to just kill _everyone_.

That last order was why Shadow Harry was currently pretending to be a dog’s silhouette, watching two young mages mutually fail at a simple strategy board-game. Something had happened to Vaati in the eons he’d spent locked away this time. He’d discovered a new kind of magic that had let him weaken his prison and bring it to a place where someone was more likely to open it, but all that power had infected him with something _dark_. He’d been more playful before. Working under him had actually used to be fun! Certainly more fun than Ganon’s dour idea of what a conquered kingdom should look like. Shadow Harry fondly remembered the chaos he’d been able to wreak in the Village of the Blue Maiden. Those had been the good old days, tricking children and making them cry. It was certainly better than slaughtering them en-masse.

That was what he had just been commanded to do, though—slaughter children (and a handful of adults) en-masse. Not zap them into the realm of shadows or teleport them all to random parts of the country, both of which would get them out of the way and create plenty of entertaining suffering. Vaati wanted every occupant of this castle (soon to be Vaati’s castle) gone forever. The dark sorcerer wanted them put to death for the crime of living in the place he intended to turn into the seat of his kingdom.

Where was the whimsy? Where was the creativity? He was Vaati the Wind Mage, not Vaati the Merciless! Not even Ganon went for flat-out massacres; he went for the mass starvation approach instead.

Shadow Harry didn’t know what to do. His boss had dropped this order on his head and flitted off to scout for places to bring into his new kingdom. Shadow Harry had no idea where the dark mage went to do this, other than “vaguely in Hyrule.” Wherever he’d gone, Vaati was occupied enough that he wasn’t monitoring Shadow Harry’s thoughts for the time being, which gave the spirit some room to ruminate.

Did he want to kill all the oddly round-eared, powerfully magical Hylians occupying the castle? No. He didn’t even need to think about that one. Shadow Harry was a dark spirit of Hyrule, and as a spirit tied to the denizens of that kingdom, it went against his purpose to go around murdering them willy-nilly. The souls of Hyrule were his to terrorize, not to send into early graves. If Vaati weren’t so obsessed with his building projects, he would have remembered that fact about his servant.

But what could the shadow do? He couldn’t just ignore an order. That would mean being sent back to his slumber, and Shadow Harry wasn’t going to give up even a second of walking the mortal plane. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep since the last time he’d been called upon—and the fact that Vaati wouldn’t let him leave the castle grounds was making it hard to get his bearings—so every moment he got to stay awake was precious.

Hmm…how could he make a genuine effort to massacre the children while not _actually_ massacring the children? Was that even something in his wheelhouse? His main skills lay in causing widespread suffering and fighting duels to the death against whichever unlucky Hylian bore the Spirit of Courage. As such, his repertoire consisted of turning people into shadows, skillfully wielding whatever blade his mortal reflection was using, summoning up amusing magical artifacts from previous Heroes' adventures, and using a fun little noisemaker he'd come up with to antagonize Death Mountain and mess with the last Four Swords Hero…

Oh, right, there was another Four Swords Hero! And if he threw his exploding toys around, it would certainly _look_ like he was making an effort to follow orders. But secretly, he’d just be getting revenge against his boss for being no fun and forcing Shadow Harry to babysit ugly caves all the time!

Shadow Harry cackled evilly, making several nearby students jump and look around, and teleported out of the room. He had some bombs to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't recall it being specified whether Draco knew the precise details of what his father did to Ginny in Book 2. If it was mentioned and I forgot...let's just pretend that Lucius never said what happened because he was embarrassed by both his failure and being tricked by a twelve-year-old thereafter.
> 
> If any of you haven't played Four Swords Adventures, just know that Shadow Link is an absolute gremlin who thrives on making everyone else's day worse in that game, and that's what my headcanon for Shadow Harry is based on. In my story, he likes causing problems on purpose, but not the kinds of problems that drastically lower the number of people whose days he can make worse. I'm going to say up front that I don't plan on killing the children; I'll break their bones, give them stab wounds and inflict them with trauma, but I stop short of murder.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Harry stops by to explain why he's blowing up the school and then does so, Draco tells Snape he's worried Harry is being abused by Muggles (which is about as effective as you'd expect), and Yellow finds himself suddenly declared the social pariah of the month because panic can make people a little color-blind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary for this chapter is a little longer and more specific in case anyone has to skip after Shadow Harry tosses the first bomb. Content warnings for this chapter include disassociation, panic attacks, Harry's abusive childhood, and a school bombing. As I said last chapter, while I don't intend to kill children in this fic, traumatizing them is firmly on the table, which is why I've raised the rating.
> 
> It may sound cruel, but the notion of Shadow Harry throwing his signature skull bombs inside of Hogwarts was one of the first things I thought of when I started conceptualizing this crossover four years ago. I was playing Four Swords Adventures and getting annoyed at Shadow Link, and then I imagined how horrific his favorite player-hassling activity would be if it were placed in the wildly different context of Hogwarts castle.

“No references to Hyrule at all! _None_!” Blue ranted. “I found more about bloody _Atlantis_ —which was apparently real until one suicidal idiot shattered its water-repelling spells—than I did about Hyrule!”

Harry, more exhausted than angry after the three-hour research session Blue had dragged him into, just shrugged in resignation. “I don’t know what you expected,” he said. “We never saw anything about Hyrule in the library before all this happened. Why would that have changed?”

“I don’t know!” Blue tossed up his hands. “Dumbledore found the Bestiary, so I was just hoping that maybe, since we’re the real Hero’s stand-ins this time around, we’d be able to find something, too.”

“That’s a good idea, I guess, but it would’ve been better if you’d taken Hermione to the library instead of me.” Harry stretched, the wound-up muscles in his back and shoulders straining. He wasn’t used to hunching over tables and poring over piles of books. “She’s about as Ravenclaw as a Gryffindor can get.”

Blue looked guilty. “I think I’ve scared her off,” he confessed. “She got more attached to the Bestiary than I thought she would. As determinedly as I’ve been hounding her to get it back, she’s been hiding from me more and more.”

“Just apologize to her the next time we’re in class—Oh, watch out.” Harry saw a Keese flutter out of the wall up ahead. When it dived at them, he snatched it out of the air like a shadowy Snitch and then threw it hard at the ground. “Hermione would be fine with an apology,” he continued as he collected the small green gem the bat had dropped. “I mean, she makes Ron and I apologize for the stupid things we say all the time and it doesn’t take too long for her to calm down after.”

“I suppose,” Blue sighed. “I just wish there were more books about Hyrule for me to study so she and I wouldn’t have to fight over the same one. It’s not like I can borrow a Bestiary from another House; the books vanish and reappear in the common room if you try to take them into the halls.”

“We could ask around the portraits if you like,” Harry offered. “Professor Dumbledore said a portrait told him where to look. Besides, with Quidditch practices cancelled for however long, it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do.”

The determined fire re-lit in Blue’s eyes. “Maybe we can track down the portrait that started the message down the grapevine!” he declared. “Let’s go!” He jogged down the corridor.

Harry groaned and picked up his pace to follow Blue. As he did, he noticed a dull sinking sensation behind his navel—a warning. He experienced the same vague sense of dread every time a trap was nearby or something in the castle changed. Sometimes it went off just before a Moblin or a Phantom stepped around the corner.

Straining his ears to listen for a Moblin’s clicking footsteps, clanking Phantom armor, the warning chime of a Wizzrobe, or the deep rumble of approaching giant marbles, Harry caught up to Blue and then gripped the boy’s shoulder. “Slow down for a minute,” he said lowly to his counterpart. “Something’s wrong here.”

“Like what?” Blue peered around. “I don’t see anything. Do you think you’re picking up on a Keese swarm about to come through the wall?”

“Keese don’t set anything off. They’re too weak,” Harry replied. The sensation of dread suddenly pulsed, making him look around wildly for its source. “Come out, wherever you are!” he shouted to the empty corridor. The _strangely_ empty corridor, now that he thought about it. There were usually at least a few upper-years milling about this close to the library.

With a sound like bubbling mud, a lump of shadow rose from the ground in front of Harry and Blue. They pulled out their swords and hung back, unsure of what monster had decided to challenge them.

The shadow grew taller and thinner, gaining more definition. Then it developed a pale gray face and grinned at them. “Hello, Heroes,” Shadow Harry said cheerfully. “Heard you’ve been having trouble at the library.”

“You’ve been spying on us,” Blue accused. “Why? What does Vaati have to gain?”

Shadow Harry shrugged. “Not much, given what I’ve seen so far. He just wanted to see if you were like all the others who’ve challenged him. You aren’t quite the same—you talk a lot more, for one thing—but you fall under the heading of ‘undersized, recklessly brave child’, so close enough. The other Heroes definitely had better sword skills at this point, though.”

Harry frowned. “How would you know? How old are you, if you know what the other Heroes were like? _What_ are you?”

“I’m as old as you are,” said the shadow. “You and the legacy you’ve somehow managed to stumble across, anyway. Just as the Hero represents the light, I am the darkness. You bring order; I bring chaos.” He grinned in a dashingly malevolent way. “I must say, though, after millennia of being ‘Dark Link’ or ‘Shadow Link’, it’s a nice change of pace to be called ‘Shadow Harry’.”

“Vaati isn’t that old. We’ve read his story,” Blue remarked. “You’re more ancient than he is. Why does he control you?”

Shadow Harry’s face contorted in anger, a flash of something beastly peeking through. His eyes flared like sickly yellow flames, his bared teeth flickering between Harry’s crooked assortment and monstrous fangs. The boy’s expression smoothed into a simple frown a moment later. “Being a dark spirit has its drawbacks. Generally if you see me flying around, it’s because someone even worse than me is digging their claws into Hyrule. How they’ll decide to treat me during their coup d’état is a total crapshoot.” He shrugged in a “what can you do” sort of way. “With my current boss, all I can do is hope he’s in a better mood the next time he breaks out from whatever prison you four manage to stuff him in. Since he _isn’t_ in a good mood right now, though, I’m just going to have to get on with this stupid errand he decided to drop in my lap.” He dug into his shifting, smoky robes. “It’s the _worst_ ,” he complained. “Not what I was designed to do at all.”

“You don’t like serving Vaati?” Harry asked. It fit with what little he’d seen of his doppelganger so far; he hadn’t struck Harry as malicious, despite setting a giant Keese on them. The shadow had seemed apathetic, perhaps mildly amused by their suffering at worst.

“Normally I do, but he’s way less fun than he was last time. He never had such an _agenda_ before, and keeps using me in all the wrong ways just to push his big plan ahead.” He sighed and shook his head. “There’s something about this place that’s making him act all weird, I swear.”

Shadow Harry pulled a blue sphere from his robes. “Now, this here is a bomb, crafted by yours truly to cause maximum mayhem.” He made a flourishing motion toward it the explosive, which looked like it had been plucked out of a cartoon. “This probably won’t kill you, but I’ve never used them in a building before, so even I’m not sure what it might do. My advice is to run and tell everyone else to run with you.” He grinned with dark mischief and cupped one hand by his mouth. “Since the boss isn’t listening, I’ll let you in on a secret: he ordered me to kill everyone in the castle, but I don’t wanna. Sure is a stroke of luck for you that I’m a spirit of chaos, not death, isn’t it? I promise not to maim your classmates too badly if you promise not to tell on me.” He winked and tossed the object into the air. “One down, nine to go!” he called out, and then he sank into the stone floor.

The ball expanded in jerky bursts as it flew, swelling until it was the size of a small car. Harry and Blue were already running by the time it landed with a ground-shaking thud.

Harry was overcome by a floaty sense of nothingness as he fled. It was the same state he found himself in whenever he had to escape Dudley’s gang or endure a beating. His mind would fade into the distance and his body would take over. Only seeing the hallway flying by him, he was barely conscious of his legs powering along. His voice called out every now and then, probably a warning to the other students. Harry passed them by so quickly that he wasn’t sure whether he’d told them to run.

A concussive “BANG” dragged his untethered mind back down to Earth. The air gave him a hard shove and his ears popped painfully.

Harry stumbled toward a wall and leaned on it for support. “Th-that was the bomb?” he asked shakily. He became aware that his legs felt like they were made of cement and his lungs were on fire. How far and how fast had he run?

“That was the bomb,” his voice confirmed. Harry looked to the side and was mildly surprised to see Blue. He’d completely forgotten about him while he’d been on the retreat. In all his years of evading Dudley, Harry had never had anyone run _with_ him before.

“He said he had ten of those,” Blue said, his eyes wide. He stared down the hall in the direction they’d escaped from. “He never said they were all for us.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He imagined Ron and Hermione walking around a corner and seeing the bomb only as it went off. There would be so much blood and—

Blue gripped his shoulder, hard. “Green, don’t,” he said sharply. From the pale, sickened look on his face, he’d been imagining the same thing as Harry. “We need to tell a teacher. Professor Flitwick’s office is on this floor. Let’s go.”

“Okay.” Harry focused on making his aching legs move and nothing else.

* * *

“Draco, while I may be your godfather, that does not mean I’m the one to whom you’re obligated to bring every grievance,” Professor Snape said with a sigh. “But I digress. What is the matter, boy?”

“Potter’s in trouble,” Draco declared. “Now that we’re allies, that’s a bad thing. I want to find a way to fix this.”

Professor Snape’s expression soured. “You want to help that arrogant little toerag? I thought I’d taught you better than this, Draco.”

Draco shook his head. “He isn’t arrogant and he’s actually…decent. He isn’t nearly as nasty as I thought he’d be, given all I’ve done to discredit him.”

“That’s just him using his Golden Boy charm on you. Potter has always excelled at getting people to come to his side, even those who were doubtful at first.” The venom in his voice unnerved Draco. He was still iffy on Potter, but he doubted the boy had done anything to deserve _that_ much loathing. “Trust me, whatever trouble he says he’s in, it’s likely a ploy to get you to do something for him.”

“That’s just it, Professor. He hasn’t really said anything. He told me this thing could make him even more famous, and there hasn’t been a peep from him,” Draco said. “I think it’s something he wants to keep secret.”

“A dangerous thing he wants to keep secret, you say?” Snape asked with a note of interest. “That sounds potentially useful.”

“No, Professor, you don’t understand.” Malfoy leaned forward, putting both hands on the professor’s desk. “I think those Muggles he lives with are _hurting_ him,” he said in lowered tones. “The yellow Potter’s boggart turned into his _uncle_ , Professor. One of the rumors going about the muggleborn and halfblood population of this castle is that his family’s been mistreating him. I went to ask Granger about it and she said Muggles have made a study of this thing, like it’s common in their world. What if Potter’s family is like that, Professor?”

The Potion’s Master’s face had gone curiously blank while Draco had been speaking. His mouth scrunched slightly and his dark eyes flashed, as though he were embroiled in a fierce internal debate, and then his features relaxed once more. “I assure you that, whatever you’ve heard, it’s a lie that came from Potter’s mouth,” he said smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have several essays to—”

Everything in the office rattled as a strong tremor went through the room. It was only Professor Snape’s quick reflexes and silent spellcasting that saved his many jarred specimens from jittering off of their shelves. The man looked up at the ceiling with an intense frown. “What in Merlin’s name is going on up there?”

“Probably the Weasley twins experimenting again,” Draco said with a shrug. Malfoys weren’t supposed to associate with poor, Muggle-loving blood-traitors like the Weasleys, but he liked some of the twins’ ideas. “Maybe coming up with a new kind of Dungbomb.”

Professor Snape remained tense. “No…Those two are troublemakers, but they aren’t mad enough to test something with a concussive blast like _that_ within the walls of Hogwarts,” he said. “Stay here, Draco. I believe the Headmaster needs to be notified.” He stood up from his desk and went through the door to his private quarters. He was going to Floo to the Headmaster’s office from there, Draco knew.

“Potter, if you had anything to do with this, I _swear_ I’m not bailing you out of trouble with Professor Snape,” Draco muttered to the ceiling. “I already have one problem I’m trying to help you with.”

Stepping out of the office, Draco was caught up in a storm of worried licks from Dog, whom he’d directed to wait outside. “Ugh, stop it! I’m fine, can’t you see?” Draco protested. When his pet obediently let up, he cast a cleaning spell on his face and grumbled, “I don’t know why you’re convinced my godfather is going to chop me up for potion ingredients. He might seem evil to you, but that’s just because he’s never been fond of dogs—especially big ones.”

Upon hearing this, Dog hung his head.

Draco gave him a fond pat. “It’s not your fault you could pass as a bear, you silly mutt. Besides, only a beast your size is worthy of serving a Malfoy like me.”

Dog rolled his eyes and dragged his tongue up Draco’s cheek with pointed slowness.

“Well, my family _is_ great,” Draco defended as he cleaned his face off again. “I deserve to get a swelled head about it.” He led the way toward the dormitories. “While we’re stuck in here, we might as well find a way to entertain ourselves. How about making Crabbe and Goyle play against one another at chess again? They’re both so painfully awful at it that—”

BOOOOMMMM!

The floor shook and Draco stumbled. Dog ducked underneath him before his chin hit the stone. “What _is_ this?” Draco murmured into Dog’s shaggy fur, his eyes following the trails of dust falling from the ceiling. The tremors had stopped almost as soon as they’d come, but they had been thrice as strong as the ones that had struck in Professor Snape’s office. Unless the Weasley twins had learned to Apparate within the castle’s strict wards, they couldn’t have set off one of their experiments so far away from and then so close to the dungeons within such a short interval.

Pansy Parkinson stepped over a couple of fallen first-years and hurried to Draco’s side. “Are you alright, Draco?” she simpered.

“I’m fine,” he told her. “Did I miss something while I was in the professor’s office? What’s going on?”

“An earthquake, maybe?” she said uncertainly. “We don’t know any more than you do.”

“I know a _bit_ more than you do, then.” Draco stood up with Dog’s assistance. His pet leaned firmly against him afterward, a look of wariness in his intelligent gray eyes. “Whatever’s causing it, it’s an explosive. Also, _whoever’s_ causing it, they can either move awfully fast or they’ve planted these things all over the school.”

“But why?” Pansy asked. She cast her gaze over the common room, which was still in disarray and now full of crying first-years, then turned back to Malfoy. “Everyone’s shaken, but fine…” She trailed off, a nasty, gleeful look forming on her features. “Unless these bombs are only for those who _shouldn’t_ be at Hogwarts.”

Malfoy was confused for a moment. _‘“Shouldn’t”? Who’s at Hogwarts that shouldn’t—Oh, right. Potter’s been having too much influence on me.’_ “Yes, it could be that the bombs are for the Mudbloods and other riff-raff,” he agreed. “That all depends on who’s dropping them, though.”

“I think you’ll find you know him rather well, Malfoy,” a familiar voice said in a very unfamiliar way.

“ _Potter_?!” Draco said incredulously. In the center of the common room, from absolutely nowhere, had appeared the yellow-eyed Potter.

But no…This wasn’t Yellow. His eyes were more grayish than golden, his hair was an uninterrupted shock of inky black, and his skin was the color of dirty slush. This creature had Potter’s face, but it wasn’t any of the boy’s multicolored aspects.

“You’re the shadow,” he cried. “That spy the Potters were talking about!” He plunged his hand into his pocket, closing it around his wand. “Get away from that thing!” he shouted to his fellow Slytherins, who were all gawking at the doppelganger like idiots. “That’s not Potter!”

“No, not quite,” the shadow purred in agreement. His glowing irises brightened as he smiled at Draco. “I’m the shadow of _every_ Hero. I’ve got to say, I like the new kid. Seems like he has some personal demons I can work with.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a bright blue ceramic sphere. “You’d better run, little mages!” he called as he lofted it into the air. “Wouldn’t want to cause a bloody mess, now, would you?”

Draco’s eyes followed the ball as it swelled to the size of a Quaffle, then a person, then a hippogriff. It sprouted a thick white cord that sparked and fizzed on one end, and a large, white “10” appeared on its surface. When it landed, the number switched to “9”.

“Wh-What is that?” Pansy demanded as the count became “8”. She backed away as she spoke. “A firework?”

“A _bomb_!” Draco shrilled. He ran for the nearest door that caught his eye, which happened to be the exit to the Slytherin dormitory. “RUN!” he screamed over his shoulder. He didn’t care that his voice had cracked, or that it had sounded as shrill as a girl’s. He just wanted to live, and not come back to a common room painted red.

* * *

Ron caught Red by the elbow as he stumbled into him. Around them, the torches flickered and their metal brackets squeaked.

“Did that sound like an explosion to you?” Red asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Like a far-off one, yeah,” Ron confirmed. “I don’t think it was on this level.”

“The ground shook a lot, so maybe one floor down?” Yellow suggested. He bit his lip. “Although I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to check it out. That sounded big, and there might be more of whatever that was.” Unlike his brothers, Yellow didn’t always want to run straight into danger. Sometimes it was more prudent to stop and think, or wait until the danger was a little less…dangerous.

Red rolled his eyes. “Come on, Yellow. We’ve followed trails of spiders, crashed a car into the Whomping Willow, fought our possessed teacher, and shoved our wand up a troll’s nose. A piddly little explosion is nothing.” He grabbed Yellow by the wrist and towed him along as he and Ron sought out a staircase.

They were accosted by a bow-wielding Moblin just before the stairwell. Ron’s ear got clipped by an arrow during one mistimed dodge and he landed in an impromptu roll that looked like it caused a few bruises. He hopped back to his feet with a cry of “ _Expelliarmus_!”

The Moblin’s bow tried to jump from its hands, but the monster stubbornly held on. Then it nocked another arrow. “Really?” Ron cried in exasperation.

“It kind of worked, though!” Yellow encouraged. He pulled out his own wand with the hand not holding his sword and cast a Disarming Charm as he and Red dashed toward the monster. The Moblin dropped its arrow as it struggled to keep hold of his weapon.

Red and Yellow converged on the monster with their swords before it could raise its bow. They attacked one side each, hacking with abandon. The way to fight Moblins was to get as many hits in before it could land an attack of its own. Technique didn’t matter, just speed.

The Moblin suddenly punched out, catching Red in the torso and knocking him off his feet. Yellow grunted at the dull burst of pain in his solar plexus, but was glad not to feel the sharp stab of a broken rib. Red would be fine, just bruised. Yellow came up behind the Moblin and slashed his sword across its shoulders. The monster turned around, swinging its bow like a club. Yellow ducked the heavy attack, shivering at the whoosh of wind overhead, dashed around it, and sliced at its hamstrings with a two-handed grip. When the Moblin stumbled, he drove his sword into its spine, hoping that finished it off.

To his relief, instead of turning around and punching his head off, the monster collapsed and then vanished in the customary puff of smoke. It left behind a golden gem that Yellow was happy to collect. “Are you alright?” he asked, helping Red up.

“Fine,” Red wheezed. “Lungs just hurt.”

“And you, Ron…?” Yellow paled at the blood running down the side of Ron’s neck. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?”

Ron put his hand to his bleeding ear. “Er, I think—”

The floor rumbled again, this time hard enough to make everyone lose their footing. Yellow landed painfully on his hands and knees, causing Red to yelp from the feedback he received over their connection. “Sorry,” Yellow said sheepishly. He sat down and tucked his stinging knees to his chest. “I really think we should just find somewhere safe to wait this out. Maybe the Hospital Wing, so Ron can get his ear fixed,” he said to his friends. “That explosion was really big. Investigating _after_ whatever’s happening is probably better.” After all, if whatever it was had the strength to shake the whole floor, there wasn’t anything Yellow and his friends could do about it. Except get too close and die, but he didn’t want to think about that.

“You know, maybe Yellow’s right,” Ron said. He grimaced at his bloodied fingers. “Not much we can do against an explosion.”

“Oh, fine. We can go do the safe, boring thing. I need less sensible friends,” Red griped, though he helped Ron and Yellow to their feet. “The Hospital Wing, then?” he asked.

“Yeah, unless you’ve learned any healing spells since you split off of Harry,” Ron replied.

Red laughed. “Me, go out of my way to study something? No, not likely.” He set off at a fast pace toward the stairs. “Off we go to Madam Pomfrey!”

They entered the stairwell, only to find complete pandemonium. Students poured up and down the stairs in a roiling stampede. No one seemed to have any place in mind to go, other than “away”; most had expressions of blind panic or pure terror. On staircases that had meandered away from their moorings, students huddled together in protective clumps. The cries of panicked children echoed within the cavernous vertical space.

Seeing so many of his classmates acting like scattered ants, Yellow himself felt the urge to flee. He hid halfway behind Ron, who gave him a funny look over his shoulder but didn’t pull away.

Red, ever confident, stepped forward and cupped his hands over his mouth. “OI!” he bellowed over the din. “WHAT’RE YOU RUNNING FROM?”

A number of heads turned toward him, causing several pileups on the stairs. Yellow winced in sympathy for the trampled unfortunates.

“What d’you mean, what are we running from?!” an upper-year Ravenclaw asked incredulously. “The bombs, of course! Why aren’t _you_ running?”

“Bombs?” Red repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“Yellow Potter’s gone mental!” someone else shouted. The twig-limbed Hufflepuff wiggled out from a knot of tangled students. “He’s tossing these huge bombs all over the place!”

“What?!” Yellow gasped. He stepped out from behind Ron. “I would never do that!” he cried. How could they believe him capable of such a thing? He had never done anything to hurt anyone, and he never would! “It has to be someone else!”

“It’s him!” the Ravenclaw shrieked. “He’s going to blow up the staircases!”

“Wait, you idiots—!” Red began, but all sense of reason had left his classmates’ heads. A river of black robes flowed through every exit but the one Yellow stood in front of, vanishing into the hallways beyond within seconds.

Red, Yellow, and Ron stood in befuddled silence until the castle was wracked by another shockwave. The staircases around them shivered perceptibly. Some stopped mid-shift, as though stunned by the tremors.

Tears sprang to Yellow’s eyes. “That was another bomb,” he whimpered. “A lot of people might have gotten hurt, or k-killed, and they all think it’s my fault!” He hugged himself tightly, remembering the many, many times when he’d been blamed for things others had done. Dudley had broken a vase, but no, Harry had done it. The teachers had instituted a healthier lunch policy, and oh, Harry must have said something to make them change it. Harry had gotten a detention and a call home for starting a fight, even though Dudley had been sitting on him and pummeling his face. So, of course, Harry was now the one throwing bombs and blowing people up! Of course he was!

“Yellow.” Scarlet eyes appeared in front of him, a pair of brown ones hovering nearby. “Take deep breaths and _slow down_. You’re gonna pass out, otherwise.”

Realizing that he was indeed panting for air, Yellow forced himself to breathe at a more measured pace. “I can’t handle this, Red,” he said, winding his fingers into the sleeve of his counterpart’s robe. “I’m not the part of Harry that deals with things like this!”

He wasn’t smart or brave or cunning like his other selves. Yellow was the passive, mild-mannered Harry who only acted when he absolutely had to. He was the one that kept them safe when his relatives were at their most malicious and no amount of courage, cleverness, or ambition would help the situation. He kept his head down and did ten chores in one afternoon if Aunt Petunia started eyeing her frying pan too eagerly; when Uncle Vernon was puffing up and turning purple, he offered apologies and then stayed in his room like an uncomplaining little angel; if Dudley was in the mood to blame Harry for something or go Harry-Hunting, Yellow was the one who offered to do his cousin’s homework or fail a test to make Dudley’s grades look better by comparison. He was a mediator who worked his magic through shows of quiet submission and feats of backbreaking work; such tactics would be useless against a mob of angry classmates.

“There are four of us now, remember? We’ll help you,” Red soothed. “Ron and Hermione, too. We’re gonna get through this, just like we did with the ‘Heir of Slytherin’ BS last year.”

“I wasn’t getting accused of being a ruddy _terrorist_ last year, was I?!”

“No, but you _were_ accused of setting a thousand-year-old monster on muggleborns to Petrify them,” Ron replied. “We’ll protect you if anyone starts looking shifty. I’ll talk to Fred and George, too. They’d definitely help, and they know loads of spells.”

Yellow took deeper, slower breaths as the panic eased. He had help, now. He’d never had that before. Dudley had always made sure no one his age would want to be his friend and Aunt Petunia had turned every adult in the neighborhood against him with her claims of Harry’s “mental instability”. He had friends and allies now, though, just as he had last year and the year before that. Yellow clung to the idea like a lifeline; he wasn’t unprotected and alone anymore.

“I know I’m bleeding, but I think I’d rather wait here until the bombs stop than get trampled trying to find Madam Pomfrey. I’ve gotten run over enough times by my brothers to know how much it hurts,” Ron declared, sitting down beside the archway leading to the stairwell. “After all this, we can get Hermione to explain what’s going on. She knows everything.”

“I’m hoping she at least knows I didn’t do this,” Yellow mumbled as he slid down the wall. He sat in a scared huddle. “Why would anyone want to blow up Hogwarts? It’s a school full of kids— _pureblood_ kids, too. Voldemort wouldn’t want to risk hurting them, would he?”

“I don’t think You-Know-Who could even get into the school, now that the wards are screwed up,” Ron said. “This has to be something to do with what’s happened this year, with all the weird old magic floating around. What about that bloke you said was spying on us in Defense? He looks like you lot, doesn’t he, even though he’s something else?”

Yellow and Red exchanged looks of horrified realization. “Someone with _yellow_ eyes and Harry Potter’s face is chucking giant bombs at people,” Red groaned, pointing to his twin. “Wrong shade of yellow, and no stripe in the hair, but I don’t think people pay that much attention when they think they’re gonna die. They’ve mixed up Shadow Harry with Yellow!”

“It doesn’t help that we’ve only told Professor Dumbledore, Malfoy, and Ron about Shadow Harry.” Yellow sighed, thumping his head against the wall. “Gosh darn it.”

“Then either we’ll tell everyone, or the nerds will come up with a political, smart way to make everyone not hate you,” Red decided. “Now we’ve got a plan, so that’s good.”

The castle thrummed, a distant blast sending its power through the stone structure.

Yellow squeezed his eyes shut, fighting not to imagine how many people had just been injured…or worse. “At least one thing is,” he murmured.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape assumes that Harry tried to kill his Slytherins and the Gryffindors make a similar assumption, but more color-specific.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like Zelda fanart, I draw that when I can't think of anything to draw for my story. You can find it here if you copy-paste the URL: https://garden-eel-draws.tumblr.com/tagged/doodle  
> Attempts were made to embed a link, and none of them worked. Also, I think Ao3 ate my permanent end note, so I guess I'll just manually add a URL to each chapter if I can't get it back. *Sigh*. If anyone reading this fic knows what I'm doing wrong concerning links and end notes, could you please tell me in the comments?
> 
> Anyway, enough shouting out my blog and lack of tech skills. Time for an emotional impact chapter. *cracks knuckles*

Harry sat in one of the chairs before Professor Dumbledore’s desk, his stomach knotted with dread. Professor Flitwick had instructed them to Floo there through his fireplace, but the Headmaster’s office had been empty when they’d arrived.

The soft whistles, clicks, and hoots of the instruments strewn about the large room, usually comforting in their gentle whimsicality, now unnerved Harry. One instrument in particular, a bulbous cross between a flower pot and a teakettle, kept producing strident little peeps that made it sound like it was in pain. Its lone cry of alarm made the peaceful chatter of the other silly doodads seem empty and wrong.

 _‘The whole school is in danger, and it’s my fault,’_ Harry thought. The teakettle-pot’s distressed chirps matched the tempo of his thudding heart. _‘I pulled the sword out of the pedestal. I set Vaati and the shadow free. If I’d just left it there—’_

Blue punched Harry hard in the arm, jolting him out of his spiral before it could truly begin. “If you hadn’t pulled the sword out, then everyone would have had to find a way to stop Vaati _without_ the blade specifically designed to beat him,” the boy said. “This isn’t our fault. Hell, it isn’t even _Shadow Harry’s_ fault. It’s just Vaati acting like the wanker he is, so get over yourself.”

Harry rubbed where he’d been hit and studied the wood of Professor Dumbledore’s desk, refusing to make eye contact. “How’d you know?” he asked.

“Because I gave myself the same speech just a minute ago.”

The boys sat in near-silence for a while, only the various noises of Professor Dumbledore’s knickknacks and the occasional sound of a distant bomb blast interrupting the quiet. Harry chewed on his lower lip and struggled not to think. If he started thinking, he would start blaming himself for everything, and that wouldn’t help him or anyone else. It was certainly bad form for a Hero of Hyrule—even a stand-in—to have a nervous breakdown while their designated villain was wreaking havoc. Blue was flipping the pages of a book he wasn’t reading. His eyes were glazed and he turned the pages too infrequently to match his usual reading speed. Harry decided to follow his example and pulled his Defense textbook out of his schoolbag. Soon, he had lost himself in a section describing the defining characteristics of werewolves.

A sharp ping, like someone tapping on a wineglass, made Harry and Blue look up from their books. “Attention please, everyone!” Professor McGonagall’s voice announced. Harry looked around for intercom speakers before realizing it was a spell of some sort. “It has been determined that this recent attack on the school has passed. Hogwarts’s staff will be making rounds through the castle, transporting the injured to the Hospital Wing to be treated. Those who are only lightly injured may report to the Hospital Wing themselves, but _do not_ move those who cannot move themselves. Simply wait with them and keep them safe from any monster patrols until a teacher arrives. Afternoon and evening classes have been cancelled and further announcements will be made throughout the day. That is all.”

Harry felt sick. How many people had been grievously injured to warrant such a warning?

“You don’t think anyone _died_ , do you?” Blue asked, looking green. “Shadow Harry said he was intentionally trying _not_ to kill us out of spite, but maybe…”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Let’s just wait for Professor Dumbledore.”

Tense quiet filled the room again. The boys flipped through their books and the instruments blithely produced their song.

After a seemingly interminable wait, the fireplace finally flared to admit Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, Draco Malfoy, and Dog. Malfoy reached him first, apologetically muttering, “I tried, Potter. I really did.” He grimaced, then stepped back to reveal the figure of towering wrath that had followed him in.

Snape had such a look of fury on his face that Harry found himself actually fearful. He’d never been _scared_ of Snape before—intimidated and unnerved, maybe, but not frightened. Harry couldn’t help shrinking back as the man shouldered his way past Professor Dumbledore and swept toward him.

As the professor came within reach, Harry’s arms automatically jerked up to protect his face. He’d seen this kind of mood from his relatives before; there was no way this would end without bruises.

“Professor Snape,” said Harry’s voice, sharper than he’d ever heard it. Blue had risen from his seat and glared at the Potions Master with narrowed eyes. “Before you accost my brother, I’d like to know what it is that you think he’s done,” he continued in an oily hiss. His hand was in his pocket, where Harry always kept his wand.

For a moment, Snape looked stunned. The snarl twisting his lips dropped away, and his dark eyes widened a fraction. When his moment of astonishment passed, however, he was even angrier than before. “What I _think_ he’s done?!” he spat. “It’s what he _has_ done! He’s attempted to murder my students!” 

“Severus, now is not the time to fling accusations,” said Professor Dumbledore, walking up and putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “While rescue and medical operations are being carried out, we must consider this terrible event as calmly as we can. Anger and panic will do nothing to tell us why and how this happened.”

Snape flinched away from Professor Dumbledore’s touch and stepped out of reach. “Don’t preach to me about staying calm, as though I’m some flighty first-year,” the man said with a sneer. “My students—everyone conscious, that is—have all told me that _Harry Potter_ appeared in the Slytherin common room and conjured up one of the many explosives that were detonated around the school.”

“That isn’t what happened, Professor,” Malfoy said. He stood tall, but uncertainty showed in his face and the way his hand curled in Dog’s fur. “It wasn’t Harry. He _said_ he wasn’t Harry, just his shadow.”

“So another Potter is running around, then,” Snape scoffed. “That makes him no less guilty.”

Harry’s temper flared. With his hands balled into fists, he stood up from his chair and stared down Snape. “The shadow said he wasn’t me, Malfoy’s _told_ you it wasn’t me, and you know full-sodding-well that I couldn’t conjure up a bloody pumpkin, let alone a _bomb_!” he shouted. “Not to mention he was _teleporting_ all over the place! Do I look like I know how to teleport, Professor? _Do I_?!”

Silence reigned for several seconds. Harry was stunned by his own anger; he’d never yelled that loudly or sworn so readily at anyone before, let alone a teacher. Snape looked like he was about to pop a piston, his sallow face turning red and the air around him seeming to crackle with malicious intent. Dog, who was being petted by a wide-eyed Malfoy, was glowering up at Snape with his teeth bared and a low growl rumbling in his throat.

Blue turned to Professor Dumbledore. “Professor, do you recall me mentioning a ‘shadow’ in my translation notes of the Hylian Bestiary?” he asked.

“I do, my boy,” Professor Dumbledore replied. “According to what I’ve read of him, this sort of attack is only another entry on an eons-long list of his crimes.”

“You’re foisting the blame onto some...some _mythical_ creature?!” Snape sputtered incredulously. “Albus, the boy is clearly guilty. There are hundreds of witnesses, from every House—”

“They were witnesses to an atrocity committed by a spirit whose _purpose_ is to discourage and discredit those who challenge his master,” Professor Dumbledore cut in. He put a hand on Blue’s and Harry’s shoulders. “The creature who cursed this castle has set his sights on Harry. It wouldn’t do for us to assist him by believing his lies, now, would it?”

Snape’s lips pressed into a white line. “Dozens of students have been made casualties today, and you’re refusing to punish the one at fault. What will the students think? Their parents? The staff?”

“They will be told the truth, and I can only hope they’ll choose to believe it,” Professor Dumbledore replied.

Snape only grunted in response, casting a disgusted look toward Harry and Blue. “I see. Good day, Albus.” He stalked toward the exit and left in a swirl of black cloth. The door slammed shut behind him.

“The bat has left the belfry,” Blue said with relief, sinking into his chair. He exchanged a weary glance with Harry and then leaned forward to claim a lemon drop from the dish on Professor Dumbledore’s desk.

“Professor,” Malfoy said, causing Blue to jump and fumble with his candy, “what are you and the rest of the staff going to do about future attacks? If you, the _Headmaster_ , can’t deal with the Phantoms patrolling outside your office, it’s clear that none of the other Professors are going to be able to protect us.” The black dog at his side growled softly and bumped Malfoy’s shoulder with his shaggy head. “Hush, you. I’m right, and you know it,” Malfoy muttered to him. His hard gray eyes refocused on Professor Dumbledore. “So, Headmaster, what do you intend to do? In the absence of the school governors—my father having formerly been among them—I feel obligated to ask.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the blond. He’d been wondering something along the same lines for some time, but he never would have been so blunt in asking about it.

Professor Dumbledore gave Malfoy a grandfatherly look, though one tinged with sadness. “We will do all we can, my dear boy,” he answered. “Although this ancient evil is one our magic was never meant to combat, we will do our best to banish it.”

Now keenly aware of the scabbard pressing into his back, Harry sat up straighter in his seat. Maybe the teachers couldn’t do anything, but he and his new brothers could.

Malfoy crossed his arms, a nasty twist to his mouth. Before he could say something snappish, Harry spoke up, “Remember Saturday, Malfoy.” He tapped the pommel of his sword for emphasis. “ _We_ can do something, remember?”

“Hmph,” grunted Malfoy, though his stance lost some of its combativeness.

Professor Dumbledore’s smile gained a hint of mischief as he looked between the two boys. “I do hope your ‘something’ goes well.”

Harry nodded determinedly “So do we, Professor. Maybe we’ll find a way to help fix all this while we’re at it.”

* * *

Hermione sat on her bed with her arms loosely wrapped around her cat, the Hylian Bestiary splayed out in front of her. She had been flipping through it frantically just minutes before, searching in vain for a way to magically undo the tragedy that had taken place not even an hour ago.

She had not been inside the castle when the bombs had gone off; instead, she had been stuck in the crowd of students who had piled up outside Hogwarts’s locked doors. Sickly purple-blue-green arcs of electricity had sparked and zapped anyone who had tried to pull the doors open, keeping everyone out. Her stomach had dropped when she’d recognized the strange energy. If Vaati’s magic had seen fit to trap most of the student body and faculty within the castle, what else could it be doing?

That was when the bombs had begun going off.

Hermione glared with teary eyes at the page she had last turned the Bestiary to. It depicted a round, blue bomb that far outsized the shadowy, tunic-clad figure that supported it. Simply translated as a “Big Bomb”, the weapon was something that could only be conjured by the “Hero’s Shadow”, a mythical figure that appeared frequently as an enemy of various Heroes of Hyrule. Such explosives had been one of the creature’s favorite means of attack against the previous bearers of the Four Sword.

Fortunately, the shadow’s magical bombs weren’t quite the same as those crafted by human hands. They sent out no shrapnel and, while destructive, they caused more deaths by starting avalanches and collapsing houses than by blowing people to pieces. Some students might have been hurt terribly, given the damage explosives were known to inflict, but they had likely survived.

The girl had wept with relief when Spirit had translated this for her, but now she speared the dark figure shown in the article’s illustration with a glower. How _dare_ he attack a school full of children? Sure, they were students of magic and somewhat more able to defend themselves because of it, but they were _children_. Even if the Heroes who had fought him in the past had been around Harry’s age, that was no excuse to attack people who had done nothing to cross him!

A scream from the common room, muffled by the heavy wooden door of her dormitory, startled Crookshanks from her lap. Hermione sprang out of her bed. Was it another bomb? Had a monster found its way in? What was happening?

She ran out of the dormitory and stopped at the top of the staircase that led to the common room, her brown eyes scanning the commotion below. Students had gathered in a boiling huddle near the front of the room. They appeared to be simultaneously pulling someone in and trying to force them out. Hermione started down the staircase, squinting to make out whoever it was.

A stripe of golden hair and a glimpse of a small figure being bodily shoved out of the portrait hole drew a gasp from her. That was Yellow!

Ron’s loud and angry voice could be heard berating whoever had attacked Yellow before it was cut off by a pained grunt. Hermione took the stairs two at a time, panic fluttering in her gut. She didn’t know what she was going to do to help, but she had to do _something_!

Red’s voice rang out now, an incoherent yell of rage. Hermione saw a burst of flame as she dashed toward the mob. She then had to act fast before she was trampled by two dozen hastily retreating students. Having an inkling as to how Red had gotten them to back off, she called up her fire lantern and waved it at anyone who got too close. With that in hand, she made it to the portrait hole in good time.

“What happened? What’s wrong with everyone?” she asked Ron as she helped him to his feet. His ear was crusted with blood and he clutched his midsection with a pained wince as he stood. “Why did they attack you?”

“Because Shadow Harry is an arse,” Ron replied. “He’s an evil Harry who’s got yellow eyes, and he went around letting people think he was Yellow while he was dropping bombs.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. “So everyone just leapt to the conclusion that Yellow is behind this?” she asked. “Did Shadow Harry take his form, or something? Did he _tell_ them he was Yellow?” She couldn’t imagine that a creepy, gray-skinned boy who shared none of Harry’s mannerisms could possibly convince them he was Yellow without some form of shape-shifting trickery involved. Harry had been at Hogwarts long enough for the student body to know he didn’t have that kind of evil in him…hadn’t he?

“People are stupid,” Red growled. He had his sword in one hand and his flaming lamp in the other, his narrowed eyes focused on the small collection of Gryffindors who still hadn’t fled. “The shadow knows that. He didn’t have to hide anything, just let people make assumptions.” He dismissed his lamp and pulled out his wand. “You wanna go?” he snarled at the Gryffindors warily eyeing Yellow. “I might not win, but you’ll come off bleeding or missing something, I promise!”

Hermione punctuated this by rattling her lantern, causing small drops of flame to hiss and smoke on the carpet. “I’ll tell Professor McGonagall it was self-defense,” she threatened.

The other Gryffindors conceded temporary defeat and backed off. Hermione’s memory catalogued their faces and matched them to names as they did. She wanted to know who to keep an eye on, and possibly report to their Head of House.

Noticing Yellow peering fearfully around the edge of the portrait hole, Hermione went to him. “We’ll get this sorted out, I promise,” she told the boy. “We know what really happened and we’ll make sure everyone else hears it, too.”

He smiled weakly. A bruise was slowly darkening around one eye. “Thank you,” he said in a soft voice. “I’m still not used to having friends to back me up, even after more than two years. Weird, huh?”

Hermione could sympathize; she hadn’t had any friends before Hogwarts, either. She hugged Yellow. “It’s not weird at all.”

They both started in surprise when two thuds and a grunted curse came from the direction of the common room’s hearth. She spun around to see Harry and Blue sprawled on their fronts and dusted with ash. The boys sat up with matching disgruntled frowns and shook the ash out of their hair.

“What did we do wrong this time?” Harry asked the fireplace with a frown.

“The fire isn’t going to talk back, Green,” Blue told him. He sneezed twice.

“How did you Floo inside of Hogwarts?” Ron asked. “I thought it was off the Network.”

“There’s a network?” Red, Harry, and Yellow asked.

“We came from Dumbledore’s office,” Blue answered Ron. He stood up and slapped at his dusty robes. “We went there to tell him about what was going on. Malfoy was there, too, and he helped us explain.” The boy grimaced. “Snape followed Malfoy in. He didn’t believe us, of course. He didn’t even believe Malfoy. According to him, anyone named ‘Harry Potter’ is guilty.” He sighed. “So, what happened on your end? Were any of you caught in the blasts? Ron, what happened to your ear?”

“I’m okay. A Moblin just got in a lucky shot,” Ron told him. “The good news is, we didn’t get blown up. The bad news is that everyone thinks Yellow was the one throwing bombs. Shadow Harry has yellow eyes, and I guess that’s all people noticed.”

Harry’s eyes bugged out. “ _Yellow_? It’d make more sense if they blamed me or Red, but _him_?”

“Next time I see Shadow Harry, I’m pounding his face in,” Red growled, sinking his fist into his palm. “The stupid coward couldn’t even take the blame for what he did!”

Harry and Blue frowned, Harry looking particularly conflicted. “Actually, I don’t think he wanted to do this,” the latter said. “We were the ones he threw the first bomb at, and we talked a little before that. Vaati’s controlling him with dark magic. The shadow’s just a minion and he isn’t all that happy about it.”

“How can you be sure, Harry?” Hermione asked. “According to the Hylian Bestiary, he’s been doing things like this throughout history. Attacking a school is new for him, but not out-of-character.”

“We aren’t saying he’s a decent person, but there’s a difference between causing mischief with the Hero’s weapons and targeting a school,” Blue said. “Normally he’d be dashing through the halls with the Pegasus Boots, using the Fire Rod to set the tapestries on fire, or causing earthquakes with the Magic Hammer, not something as direct as this. He only blew us up because Vaati wanted him to cause a massacre. He might even be in trouble with his boss right now, since his bombs are non-lethal.”

“Blue, the last time he appeared, was helping _Ganondorf_. He tried to kill the Hero of Time!” Hermione pointed out.

“He was summoned by Ganondorf and bossed around, just like he’s being controlled by Vaati now,” Harry countered. “I know all about him, Hermione. I read the book.”

Hermione blinked, the rest of her intended argument fizzling in the face of Harry’s admission. “You _read_ …Are you saying you can read the book? All that Hylian—it makes sense to you?” She had been struggling to put together a translation key, puzzling over why things like the word “bomb” translated in the “Big Bomb” article heading and not at all in the “Dodongo” article, and Harry could _read everything_? No wonder Blue had been hogging the Bestiary! He probably had it half-translated by now!

Noticing her expression of shock, Yellow offered, “I can make a copy of Blue’s notes for you if you want. I learned how to do that so I could get copies of his class notes to study.”

“Let’s do that now,” Hermione declared. She took Yellow by the wrist and towed him toward the boys’ dorms. The sooner she became able to read the Bestiary without having to filter her questions through Spirit, the sooner she could find a way to solve this school year’s mysteries. It wasn’t going to be as easy as finding a basilisk’s mode of travel in an ancient castle, but she was always up for a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case Professor McGonagall's post-attack speech seems too short or unemotional...I was kind of channeling my experience as an American who went through many lockdown drills and a few legit lockdowns in high school. Nobody died or got hurt, thank goodness, but the post-lockdown talking-tos we got sounded rather like that. A very terse "remain calm, stay put, wait for future announcements" sort of thing.
> 
> Also, the teakettle-pot is a detector for physical damage to the castle. Hylian magic doesn't exist, as far as Dumbledore's instruments are concerned, so that's the only one that got set off.

**Author's Note:**

> Illustrations will be posted to garden-eel-draws.tumblr.com  
> This writing project started off as an art project, so I'll be posting sprite art and other kinds of drawings once they're no longer plot spoilers.


End file.
